


Gift of Obedience

by AngeNoir



Category: Ella Enchanted (2004), Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ella Enchanted Fusion, Amputation, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Consent Issues, Dysfunctional Family, Fratricide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kitsune, M/M, Magic, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Hatred, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Violence, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: If Hanzo knew, in the future, he'd be unable to disobey his elders, he would have disobeyed more as a child. As it is, he slowly gains independence, piece by piece, until he's skilled at slipping through loopholes. Yet he'll never truly be independent - case in point: when Genji reappears, and tells Hanzo to forgive himself, to pick a side, those orders are still too direct for Hanzo to find a loophole, not immediately. Then, when he reaches Overwatch, there are so manyorders.Genji doesn't seem to realize that Hanzo must follow orders, even though he and other Overwatch members notice something is strange with Hanzo. Hanzo endures, because that is what Hanzo does best.But there's one person who never actually ordered Hanzo directly. Why a cowboy hat seems to make a difference, Hanzo has no idea, but the truth remains - Jesse McCree never once gives Hanzo a direct order.Maybe that's why Hanzo finds himself seeking out the cowboy's company. Surely that's the only reason.





	1. Falling Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> My poor artist had to put up with my bad time management skills, but I'm pushing this out. Some parts might seem forced (because they probably were) but I hope the story meets expectations!

When Hanzo was nine, he realized his life was not his own.

His brother was six, playing in the garden, and Hanzo had left the dojo to join him. He had only been outside for ten, or maybe fifteen, minutes before his instructor had stepped out onto the _engawa_ with his arms folded.

Hanzo realized that even though he had completed his tasks, the instructor was there for him, not Genji. As Genji protested, Hanzo walked back to the _engawa_ and put back on his house slippers.

“You cannot shirk your duties, young master,” the instructor said severely.

Hanzo didn’t point out that he had completed his work; that he had done everything the instructor had asked. He didn’t say that his only mistake was assuming that was the only lesson he would have in the morning – but that he hadn’t been told that another lesson was coming. He did none of those, because he knew what his father always said – excuses were used by the weak. Instead, he bowed his head, accepted the cuff, and returned into the house.

Genji’s confused calls echoed behind him.

If he had known then that one day, he would not have the luxury of disobeying, he would have disobeyed and stayed with his brother for as long as he could.

***

Hanzo’s twelfth birthday was marked with a large party. Genji hopped around, so much energy and happiness that made Hanzo’s eyes spark and his heart warm. When it was just the two of them, Hanzo had relaxed, been so comfortable and, honestly, _loved._ He had joined Genji in the large gardens around the castle, climbing through the trees like monkeys, jumping from tree to tree, playing tag.

“Young master.”

Hanzo nearly missed the branch; as it was, he stumbled and tripped, cutting his arm on one of the nearby branches. Looking down, he saw his etiquette instructor standing on the cobblestone path in the garden.

“Your guests will be here shortly. You must come in and prepare for your party.”

“Hanzo is playing with me!” Genji said imperiously, his piping voice almost cruel. “Go away!”

Hanzo hesitated. It was _his_ birthday, and Genji hadn’t gotten to play with him for a long time because of Hanzo going away to actual school instead of remaining at home with the tutors. But at the same time, he hadn’t thought he could deny the orders of the elders – the only reason his instructor would be here was because the elders had sent them.

Genji saw his hesitation and scowled. “ _No_ , Hanzo! You haven’t played with me for _so long_.”

“You know the elders will keep sending people, and I will get in trouble,” Hanzo attempted.

Genji hopped back into the tree, shoving at Hanzo and nearly making Hanzo’s footing slip. “You _always_ do this! You listen to them and you ignore me! You always leave me!”

Hanzo didn’t know what to say – he never did, with Genji. Genji never understood why Hanzo had to listen to the elders, because their father always shielded their sparrow from the elders’ attention. Genji didn’t realize, or know, what the disappointment of the elders could do or the repercussions Hanzo would face.

“Sparrow, _please_ ,” Hanzo whispered. “They will not be happy with me.”

“Go, then!” Genji said, eyes filled with tears. “Go make them happy and leave me alone. You always do!”

Before Hanzo could say anything, Genji scrambled down the tree and disappeared into the estate.

***

Hanzo fought to keep himself rock still, biting down on his tongue, tasting blood in his mouth as he did his best not to shout. He could not dishonor himself in front of the clan. His tutor had been so proud to announce to the elders that Hanzo’s ability to manipulate and control the spiritual energies of their clan marked him as ready to inherit his dragon. His father had been so proud.

Hanzo had never had such pride directed at _him_ before, not like this.

He didn’t want to lose it.

So here he was, summoning his dragon, feeling the power burn through his limbs like molten fire. It tore at his muscles, raked claws of ice across his spine, and he had to show no pain, no fear. He was one of the youngest in his clan’s history to attempt to summon his dragon, and he had to do it. He _had_ to.

Genji let out a noise. Hanzo couldn’t turn his head, not without opening himself to releasing his pain so that everyone could hear, but he slid his eyes to the side where his father sat imperiously, Genji huddled by his side.

Genji’s eyes were wide, almost fearful. Hanzo supposed that Genji would be able to read the pain in Hanzo’s face – either that, or it was as noticeable as Hanzo feared, and everyone could see his shame written in his face.

Or perhaps Genji was thinking of when the tutors would deem him ready to summon a dragon to himself. That was probably more likely, the more Hanzo thought it, but at the same time, he’d like to pretend Genji cared about Hanzo and Hanzo’s pain.

He had to get a dragon. He _had_ to. If he couldn’t prove that he could summon a dragon, he would be worthless to the clan, to his father, and then they would take Genji to make _him_ the heir, and that would kill his poor sparrow—

If he thought it had been like fire in his muscles before, now it felt like shards of ice ripping through his skin, all concentrated in his left arm. He dug his fingers into his hakama, but even with how tightly his hands were clenched against his knees, he couldn’t feel it at all.

There was a roaring in his ears, an echoing sound that bounced back and forth, and then, suddenly, everything went dark.

When the lights came back on, Hanzo could feel his body trembling, sweat making his long hair stick to the back of his neck, tacking his kyudo-gi to his spine, and everyone around him was staring at his arm.

Wrapped around his arm were storm clouds, lightning, and _two_ dragons.

 _Two_.

He lifted his eyes to see Genji staring at him, eyes wide in shock, and then Genji was jumping up from his seat and running away.

Before Hanzo could even react, his tutor was coming up, mouthing the words of congratulations. Not meaning any of them, Hanzo could tell – _two_ dragons. The last Shimada who had two dragons had gone rogue, attacked a family member. And Hanzo was very young to get his dragons, he knew.

They would all be watching him carefully, now. Hanzo watched his father’s face, the absolute lack of emotion or expression in it, and wished that, just once, he could do something his father would approve of.

***

At sixteen, Hanzo had been summoned in front of the elders, his father sitting at the head of the table. Hanzo stood ramrod still, doing his absolute best to hold himself from doing anything that might reveal how terrified he was. He had just showered after his lessons, trying desperately to bring Genji to heel at the behest of his instructor, and very literally as he stepped out of the bath, there was a servant standing there, waiting for him.

“You are of marriageable age, Hanzo. Has there been anyone who has approached you yet for a union?”

The question was strange and so unexpected that Hanzo simply stood there like a fool, frozen and unmoving, until the grumbles and scowls of the elders and his father jerked him into action. “No – no one has approached me. I didn’t believe there _was_ anyone of marriageable age.”

“Nonsense – Miyoko is of your age, perhaps a year older. She would be an excellent match, and her family brings in more than adequate profits,” one of the elders – a great-uncle – said.

This immediately set the rest of the elders off – they muttered, instead of shouted, but they may have well shouted. Hanzo could tell that each one had a marriageable suitor for him, and as they quietly and politely bickered about Hanzo’s potential spouse, he did his best not to let any of his emotions show on his face. There was not much he could do to dissuade them, not without looking weak. He had nothing to offer them, nothing to trade in order to keep them from discussing over his prospects as if this was 1260 and not 2060.

And his father just sat there, listened to the elders suggesting and squabbling and bickering, cutting each other with snide remarks. Hanzo kept his arms straight, his hands still, but he could feel little shakes starting to crawl up his arms. He had to remain still, had to remain calm. He was supposed to go with Genji to the nearest arcade, a way for them to unwind. Or, at least, Genji was going to unwind; Hanzo was going as chaperone and ensure that Genji returned with his wallet mostly intact and without compromising the clan in any way. Still, these small escapes were something Hanzo needed, desired, even if he did nothing but gain enjoyment from watching Genji enjoy himself.

After nearly two hours of names being brought up, and discarded, and then brought up later when a match failed to be made, only to be discarded again, Hanzo finally had pieced together something that may in fact save him from this discussion. Ever so carefully, he caught his father’s eye.

His father, thankfully, understood Hanzo’s wish to speak, and with nothing more than a casual gesture, stilled the entire table. The silence was petrifying – Hanzo’s shyness had been something his father had berated him about, over and over, but it seemed like it always reared its head in the most inconvenient times – but Hanzo kept his eyes on his father and said, voice as implacable and confident as he could make it, “Perhaps, by keeping myself available and my options open, we could instead gain valuable insight to the lesser clans. Being the spouse of a Shimada has enough of a draw and weight to it that it would allow me to enter negotiations and have others try to curry our favor because of my eligibility.”

The elders muttered to themselves, but Hanzo kept his eyes on his father. Shimada Sojiro stared placidly at Hanzo, letting the elders slowly mount to low susurrus of whispers and murmurs before saying, almost negligently, “The boy is correct. More good comes from keeping his options open than closing them so soon. An heir is not necessary at this given moment.”

It taught Hanzo that his father would not stand with him until pressed, and that the elders had their own agendas, one Hanzo could not trust.

It also taught Hanzo that manipulation and phrasing was paramount. Anything sounded good with decent rationalization behind it.

***

When Hanzo was eighteen, he met a young man. From a different clan, going to the same university, in the same business. Not someone particularly important – a second cousin of the heirs to that clan, or some such similar distant connection.

Hanzo fancied himself in love.

Genji had caught Hanzo daydreaming, as had two of Hanzo’s tutors. Hanzo had been… not _falling behind_ , nothing so pedestrian as that, but he definitely hasn’t been as prepared for classes as he used to be. He wasn’t reading as far ahead, wasn’t completing his assignments weeks in advance. He wasn’t going straight back to his apartment to compose himself before returning to the Shimada estate in the city for his tutoring. He didn’t walk with Genji to Genji’s senior high school as often.

Yamamoto Haru was three years older then Hanzo, nearly complete with his degree. He had already begun working in his family’s construction business. His bodyguard was an unobtrusive omnic, and did not interfere as they went to small food carts, sat by the nearby lake, studied together in the library.

When he came back to his apartment, four months into his relationship, his father was sitting on the sofa, sipping tea. Two bodyguards stood behind the sofa, sunglasses and faces blank.

Hanzo had too much training and dignity to show his surprise, even if there was the slightest hint of hesitation as he saw the two of his father’s enforcers standing there. Still, he walked in and set his backpack in the seat at the kitchen table. “A pleasure to see you, father,” Hanzo said respectfully. “Does the clan have need of me?”

“This dalliance has gone on long enough. You have not gained any actionable intel from the Yamamoto boy, and instead you have been neglecting your duties to the clan. Your tutors tell me you are distracted, and Genji complains that your attention wanders. You will end this.”

Hanzo knew there was only right answer, but for the first time he seriously considered disagreeing. It was not necessary to break off the relationship – he knew that his parents had married for the good of the clan, his mother’s families’ stocks and connections securing the Shimada standing in quite a few other cities surrounding Hanamura, but _he_ didn’t have to.

But they had been in the relationship for only _four_ months. Was he really going to defy his father, his _clan_ , for such a short relationship? Even if it was… it _was_ going well. He liked Haru, liked Haru’s sense of humor, liked Haru’s easy manner and the free affection Haru bestowed upon him as easily as breathing.

They would still share classes. He would have to tell Haru it was over, with no explanation.

“Hanzo?” his father said, voice sharp and cutting.

“Of course, father,” Hanzo replied. “As you wish.”

***

“No more of your… distractions.”

Hanzo stood, stiff and still, staring at the grave marker of his father. Behind him stood his uncle – not an elder, but very close to Hanzo, one of Hanzo’s father’s trusted lieutenants. He had always disapproved of Hanzo’s pursuits outside the clan – the one or two college classes he would take over time to give him something to do that was not business or assassin focused. He claimed it was a waste of money and time, pulling Hanzo’s attention away from his duties. Hanzo’s father hadn’t seemed to care one way or another, but now Hanzo’s father was dead. Realistically, Hanzo was the head of the clan. Technically, he should be able to do what he wanted in regards to his own life, moreso now than before, but he knew not all the elders trusted him, trusted his power.

“I will consider your words, uncle,” Hanzo finally said, not looking away from the marker before him. “Thank you for your advice.”

Clearly, that was not the answer his uncle was looking for, because he opened his mouth, taking a step closer to Hanzo, but Hanzo cut his eyes to the side, searing his uncle with a withering glare.

His uncle’s eyes dropped to Hanzo’s left arm – covered – and he swallowed before sharply inclining his head and turning on his heel.

It made Hanzo burn with shame and long-held anger. He didn’t like banking on the fact that his family feared his spiritual power, and he definitely hated that his family feared his power in the first place. Still, he was here mourning his father.

Alone.

He didn’t know where Genji was, but Genji was not here, now that the ceremony was over. Well – he didn’t know _exactly_ where Genji was, but he knew he was in a bar somewhere, probably gambling or wasting his money in useless endeavors.

He felt like he wouldn’t feel so lonely and lost if he had his sparrow by his side.

***

“You are not _listening_!” his great-aunt thundered.

Hanzo did not even look in her direction, eyes trained on the papers before him. The long, low table was not quiet by any means; the elders and the heads of the different branches of the Shimada family were all complaining. The Shimada Clan had gotten out of human and omnic trafficking over fifteen years ago, but that didn’t mean they actively sought to stop trafficking around Hanamura and the surrounding areas. He was reviewing expense reports he had had Izuku bring him, looking to see where the buy-offs were happening as traffickers traveled through Shimada territory, transporting their ‘wares.’

“This level of _disrespect_ —” she snarled.

Hanzo lifted his eyes, feeling lightning zing up his arm and down, burning scorch-like markings over the left sleeve of his white silk shirt he was wearing beneath his vest.

The table went silent.

“The only disrespect I see here,” he said, voice dangerously soft, “is your constant ability to insult my intelligence. I do not _need_ to listen to you, _obasan-sensei_. In fact, if we were to look at who should be listening, I could question the _numerous_ times you have not followed my directives as _oyabun_.”

Her eyes were nervously watching his arm – his family feared his spiritual strength, even if they tried to pretend they didn’t – but she still tried to bluster. “You simply dismiss our concerns as if we are children! If your father were still alive, he’d—”

“He’s _not_ alive,” Hanzo said sharply, cutting through her words. “Your concerns are whining at best and _imbecilic_ at worst. We lose more status by letting other operations work in our territories as if we are simple farmers watching an army pass through. I will not have it, no matter how much the bribes allow you to lavishly buy more pleasure omnics for personal use – a luxury I know the previous _oyabun_ , _and myself_ , have forbidden in Shimada territory.”

She was absolutely still and silent.

Hanzo sliced his gaze over the now pin-drop silent table. “That goes for _all of you_. I am _oyabun_ now. You are welcome to challenge me for the title. I am willing to meet any of you on the challenge grounds.”

Behind him, Izuku placed another file near his elbow. Without looking at it, Hanzo grinned, teeth bared in a facsimile of a smile. “Now, in case you have had trouble in understanding my directive – if I find, for any reason, an unusual influx of monetary or material goods that could be given as a bribe, I will personally take over the control of your department and reassign you somewhere that would better fit your clearly _limited_ intelligence.”

For a long two minutes, there was no sound, no motion at all, as Hanzo allowed the severity of his threat to sink in. Then he huffed and turned to the thin file, calling up the screen. “This meeting is over. Come back when you have _actual_ concerns to bring before me.”

Slowly, one by one, the elders and family members left, only Izuku, Hanzo’s aide, remaining in the room as Hanzo continued looking over the reports brought to him. He tapped through the financials compiled, flagging family members that clearly were taking bribes, as well as possible trafficking that was happening by his own family.

With a sigh, Hanzo put the tablet down and pinched the bridge of his nose. The elders always were hounding him about his supposed ‘lack of focus’ – and he didn’t know what more he could be doing to prove otherwise. Since his father had passed, two months ago, he had not had a single day where he had not attended to _some_ level of Shimada business. He had not even had a chance to sit down and have a dinner or lunch meal with Genji, and he knew Genji was very upset about that. Their father had always had a soft spot for Genji, had allowed Genji a much looser rein than Hanzo had ever had in his life. Genji was missing their father far more than Hanzo was, simply by virtue of the fact that Hanzo had had no time to really process the death, or mourn properly.

There was a soft chime at the door of the conference room, and Izuku left Hanzo’s side to respond. Hanzo hoped it wasn’t Miyoko – the only reason she’d be back was to face him, or challenge him, and while he would have no problem putting her down – _hard_ – doing it without any witnesses would only allow the elders to complain about something else. He pinched the bridge of his nose as Izuku came back to his side. “Who is it?” Hanzo sighed.

“Your brother is… well, he needs attention,” Izuku murmured.

Hanzo breathed in deeply, tried to calm his nerves. He knew Genji was hurting, but Genji also wanted absolutely nothing to do with Hanzo and instead was drowning his hurts in cheap alcohol and bought sexual conquests of every kind imaginable.

“Where is he this time?”

“Silk and Sake,” Izuku replied quietly.

Hanzo sighed. He still had more than half of the file to go through, but Genji was his brother, and his brother was hurting.

And giving the elders another thing to complain about. They already were asking him to discipline Genji as strictly as he disciplined them.

Standing up, he growled at Izuku, “Take the file and place it in my quarters. I will be back and complete it later tonight.”

Izuku bowed. He was a good aide, Hanzo had to admit, and utterly loyal. He had grown up with Hanzo, and if Hanzo wasn’t his boss… he might have even wanted to court Izuku.

A problem for another day. He snagged his coat and pulled it on, barking short commands to his bodyguards to get his car ready.

When he came back, reeking of cheap sake that Genji had thrown in his face, arms bruised from where he had tried to pull Genji out of his seat and gotten scratched and gripped in turn, he walked into his quarters only to be greeted with the slim compu-file stacked on top of all the other matters requiring his attention.

For one heartbeat, one… long, long minute, he considered just going to bed. He felt so run down, so _tired_. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to handle all these issues right now. He wanted to curl up in his covers, wanted to hug his mother and fall asleep feeling like someone was protecting him, holding him.

His mother was dead. Any lovers of his own had been driven away.

_You were just waiting for Otosan to die, weren’t you? You’ve been waiting to be in charge this whole time! You’re no brother of mine!_

… His remaining family wanted nothing to do with him.

He breathed in deeply, breathed out slowly, and reached for the nearly empty bottle of migraine medicine before sitting at his desk and taking the first file from the stack.

***

Hanzo steepled his fingers and stared down his aunt as impassively as he could. Inside, his mind was flipping through possible responses, possible answers. He had to have a satisfactory answer, especially since she was bringing this to his attention here and now, in front of outsiders.

“Beyond that, he is flaunting our name, our status. He has created problems that you have had to go and personally deal with. He refuses to come to heel, or listen. It was mildly entertaining when your father was alive, and he was simply a young boy acting out by disappearing to arcades instead of school, and hoverbike racing on back roads. Now, he is bringing street walkers into the castle and showing up drunk to his duties. He has skipped out on his tasks more than once in the past month.”

Hanzo cut his eyes over to the outsiders. They were here, looking for an alliance with the Shimada clan, and Hanzo had been in quiet conference with them when his aunt had strode in. He could have just sent her out, but before he had said anything, she had started talking. He let her finish her say, mind racing over the possible responses.

She stood before him, and after a few minutes, grew visibly impatient. “Will you not answer me?” she demanded.

He smiled, lifting up his lip just enough for the smile to be the true baring of teeth it was. “I was merely waiting to be sure you were finished, as you seemed so intent on having your say you interrupted an important meeting. Are you finished?”

Her cheeks flushed, just the slightest bit, but her nose went even higher. “You cannot keep allowing him to have his way, when left and right you are disciplining the rest of the family. This is unacceptable.”

“Very well. Clearly my disciplinary methods are not working on him; I will change my tactics,” he said dismissively, brushing off her words. “If there is nothing more, I am in the middle of pressing business. I will speak with you later.”

“You _have_ no methods of working with him! You simply go into whatever low establishment he was in and drag him out, like a naughty child. There is no method in that!”

Hanzo shifted, just the slightest, and she took a step back. “I said,” he said, voice deceptively mild, “I will speak with you… _later_.”

Finally, she seemed to hear the threat in his voice, and she glanced over at the representative of the group before bowing sharply and turning on her heel, her guards quietly following her out.

“You seem to have some difficulty with your lieutenants, Shimada-san,” the woman said, voice monotone and yet still conferring judgement.

“Himari-kun has always been… exceedingly excitable. Eventually, she will learn proper respect,” Hanzo said, as casually and negligently as he could.

The woman watched him, her dual-colored eyes assessing and extremely judgmental, but she shrugged. “And the person she was complaining about – your brother, I hear?”

Hanzo did not grit his teeth – barely. Instead, he kept on his affected casualness as he said, “My brother has recently lost someone close and dear to him. I have been too kind, allowing him too much time to grieve.”

When she realized he was not going to say anything else, she returned to the topic they had been discussing earlier. He kept up the conversation, while inwardly seething.

She had no right to question him on how he handled his family. His aunt, no matter her relation to his mother, had no right to simply walk into his office without so much as a knock.

And his _brother_.

His brother.

***

“So you would see us miss out on a business opportunity – because you are squeamish?” his great-uncle said, voice disgusted. “That is why you will not allow us to treat with these people?”

“I will not have our clan sullied by the muck this organization deals in. Not only human experimentation, but human trafficking, terrorism, and drug running are all linked to Talon. I will not treat with people who are so well-known throughout the world for these things. The international community ignores the Shimada and our secret remains safe. No police have balked at our payoffs, no international organization like the UN Overwatch or the American SEP is looking in our direction. We operate safely and _profitably_ ,” Hanzo growled. “We make more than enough to keep us all happy. Are you feeling _unhappy_ , Katashi-san?”

The elder looked at him, white hair pulled back into a severe bun, brow furrowed, eyes burning. His power flared around him – but no one of his family, in the past thirty years, had as large a spiritual well, or as many dragons manifested, as Hanzo, so Hanzo didn’t even blink at the rush of power, simply lifted one eyebrow at his great-uncle.

“I am sure none of us are saying that we are feeling… poorly, young Hanzo,” his cousin said, voice slippery and oily. “Merely… that this feels like a judgment made from some outdated ideals you may be clinging to misguidedly.”

Hanzo lifted his hand, and Izuku came, handing him the projection. Placing it on the table, he clicked it on, showing the front page of a London newspaper with Talon’s name front and center. Clicking through, he showed the front page of a Numbani newspaper, a Cairo newspaper, a Boston newspaper, a Beijing newspaper, a Delhi newspaper, an Istanbul newspaper, a St. Petersburg newspaper.

“Talon has done nothing but pull attention to its actions and motives. We Shimada have remained in the shadow for generations. And you are willing to throw this away, this anonymity we have cultivated for years, to join with on organization known to experiment with human augmentation?” Hanzo asked incredulously. “This is the decision of our supposedly wise elders?”

There was no response, and while Hanzo could see dissatisfaction and anger, there were no arguments either.

Like always, the meeting came to a disappointing close. Hanzo remained long after everyone left, going over the expense reports, the accounts, every action item brought before him in this meeting. He also made small notations, questionable movements of money and reimbursement requests and expenses reported that he would have to review more carefully. There were quite a few, like always – but he couldn’t even bring one person to task, because it was never just one consistent person; it was always someone new. Still, 1.2 million yen? For pottery? He was inclined to call it embezzlement, if it happened more than once. Grumbling under his breath, he put one last mark on that account – his second or third cousin, Shiro. Shiro had barely manifested a dragon, if he recalled. He would have said Shiro didn’t have big enough balls to do something like overpay for pottery, regardless of how old it was.

He retired to his quarters, showered for perhaps longer than he needed to, trying to soothe aching muscles that were tired of being hunched over, tired of the training he did in the morning. He took his migraine medicine – tried to make a mental note to replenish the prescription, or have Izuku do it – and then undressed and slipped into his covers.

He woke, blind and freezing. There was talking around him, cold and sneering voices, and an overwhelming pressure and power.

“No tricks,” he could hear, and that was Miyoko’s voice, cold and cruel. “Merely obedient.”

 _< <Of courssse,>> _came a hissing voice, so saccharine sweet, Hanzo knew whoever it was, they were lying. _< <No tricks. For this young princeling, I give him your gift – the gift of obedience. May he follow directives as immediately and completely as you wish he would.>>_

There was a bright glow against the back of Hanzo’s eyelids, and he opened his mouth in a soundless scream, surging as hard as he could against his bonds – uselessly. His eyes would not open, his limbs were bound, and something burned into his skin like thin lines of silk, cutting into his muscles.

He blacked out.

***

“Wake up.”

The words seared in his mind, and he found himself involuntarily opening his eyes. Before him stood four from the council of elders, plus two cousins – Miyoko and Noboru, his two cousins, and a paternal great-grandfather, Shigeru, two great-uncles, Teiji and Jin, and a great-aunt, Itsumi. He sat there, eyes burning, heart pounding in his ears as he memorized exactly who was standing here, in his quarters, daring to _presume_ to do this to him—

“That is an ineffective command,” Itsumi said in her steely voice. “Hanzo, stand up and touch your nose.”

Without consciously thinking of it – in fact, while being indignant that she would _think_ to order such an inconsequential and ridiculous thing of him – his body stood up, sheets pooling off of his naked body, and his left hand came up and pressed a finger to the tip of his nose.

“There. It has worked. The kitsune has done truly.”

Jin’s gnarled hands tightened on his staff. “This will improve our clan’s power greatly. No longer will this arrogant whelp stand in the way of progress.”

“We can finally get a decent heir out of him,” Itsumi grunted. “Speak of this to no one, Hanzo. Do not reveal your obedience through any form of communication – or noncommunication – to anyone. Am I clear?”

Hanzo bared his teeth. “If you think this will hold me for any given period of time—”

“Answer the question,” Itsumi snapped, voice bored.

“You are clear,” Hanzo growled.

Miyoko looked at him, as smug as a cat in the cream, and Noboru smirked. “You were due for a humbling, Hanzo-kun,” Miyoko purred. “No longer will you order us around like your lackeys.”

“The way that every oyabun has done to everyone, throughout the years?” Hanzo snarled. “The way that we have done this, for generations? You are a disgrace to the Shimada, and your treason—”

“Stop talking,” Noboru drawled.

Involuntarily, Hanzo’s mouth snapped shut.

“Excellent.”

Teiji nodded sharply and left the room, followed by Jin, Itsumi, and Noboru. Miyoko lingered, her eyes traveling over his body. “You will soon see how great this will be. In fact, you think this is a great idea already, don’t you?”

It was a command, Hanzo could recognize that was what she was intending, but it was phrased as a question. Was that why it didn’t work? Could they not make him think what they wanted him to think?

He didn’t know which one it was, but she left, and he could still feel the command _Stand up and touch your nose_ floating in the air, holding him still.

His dragons surged against his skin, manifesting in a boil of fierce blue lightning, wrapping around his body, looking for what had threatened him.

And still he stood there, watching the clock tick by, until, an hour later, he finally regained control over his limbs and he dropped onto his bed, panting, shaking, _terrified_.

He needed to find a way out of this, and _fast_.


	2. Night Terrors

The first deep, real fear came when he realized that even when the command to stand wore off, his ability to form words to tell someone, _anyone_ , what happened would not come. He stood before his mirror, trying desperately to force his lips to simply mouth the words, to ape telling someone that he was magically bound to obey, and he could do nothing but stare at himself in the mirror, eyes hollowed, limbs trembling.

What made that command different from the other command? Was it the person who told him so? Was it that there was more will or more force behind it?

He didn’t have enough information. He didn’t know what to _do_.

He summoned Izuku to his room, making note of the guards on the door. Perhaps they had changed in the night, but it mattered not - the guards here should have seen, or been told, about the people leaving his room, and they did nothing to stop it. At best, they were ignorant, and assassins would have slipped right by them - at worst, they were paid off, and deserved nothing but a traitor’s death. Back in his room, he pulled on a yukata and sat in seiza, trying to grab some measure of control and tranquility through the mounting horror.

He could not even say the words ‘something has happened.’ How would he warn Izuku? How would he care for those loyal to him?

Was there anyone loyal to him, anymore?

Darker, deeper in his mind, there was a burning question: _did Genji know_?

When the door opened, Izuku paused, his hesitation marking how strange Hanzo’s position was. Normally, by now, Hanzo was dressed and had gone over the day’s itinerary; he had a list of demands, completed and reviewed files and orders accompanied by directives on how to proceed.

“Are you feeling well, kumicho-san?” Izuku asked, glancing around the room. “Did something happen?”

“I feel exceedingly unwell, Izuku,” Hanzo replied, voice gravelly as he tried to find a way to imply, somehow, in some way, that something was wrong. “I do not know when I will feel better.” All technically true, and while related to his new… he shuddered to call it anything, to acknowledge it, but it was a curse, a spell, that he was beneath - while related to this curse, it was not directly so, and he struggled to put into words what he wanted Izuku to hear. “I need you to promise me something, Izuku.”

Confused, Izuku tilted his head. “Anything, kumicho-san, of course.”

“You no longer are my aide. You are my bodyservant, and my personal assistant. You have freedom to speak your mind around me - and I expect you to take note of any…” he couldn’t even say _out-of-character-decisions_ , and he struggled for an acceptable substitute. “I expect you to note when something is wrong, and to tell me so. I want this clan to succeed. I will not dishonor my father’s legacy. I fear that I might.”

Izuku stared at him for a long moment, before nodding jerkily.

“In fact…” Hanzo said, drawing in a shaky, stuttering breath, “in fact, it may be best if you found employ… elsewhere. I fear that the situation is suddenly…” he couldn’t say _dangerous_ , couldn’t imply in any way that Hanzo may be ordered to do something foolish, or unethical, or unwise. “I fear that the situation is suddenly far more unpredictable than I may have previously thought.”

For more than a minute, Izuku studied him, brow creased and shoulders narrowed. After a long moment, he said slowly, “You told me that I may speak freely if I see something wrong. I have no dragon, no claim to the family’s power, nothing but my father’s blood. I have no koseki, no claim to anything. By all rights, I should not be alive, but you took me in, you and your father, by virtue of the fact that you felt pity for a young girl unwilling to give up her child, even when the father refused his duty and dishonored her.” He took in a deep breath, slow, and then said, “Someone is blackmailing you, or manipulating you. Someone you cannot deny. I will stay by your side, and I will work to determine how best to free you. You gave me a life; I would dishonor myself if I let you lose yours in order to go live in a safer position.”

Hanzo could feel tears in the corners of his eyes, but he fought them back, fought to hold his gaze steady on Izuku’s. “Your honor is unquestionable,” he said hoarsely.

“I will tell the staff you are indisposed, and I will do my best to curb your brother’s wildness for today. Your trainers will not do anything other than comment on your absence to the elders, which is not a problem for today. You should try to get some rest. A refreshed mind can better strategize than a stressed one.”

With a respectful bow, Izuku left the room.

Hanzo considered carefully. It wasn’t an order, even though he could feel a faint urge in the back of his brain, a type of nudging that meant his curse or what have you was waiting to strike - but Izuku had worded his sentence respectfully.

There was no order inside of it.

For one cautious moment, Hanzo allowed himself to hope. The only ones who knew of this would know to be disrespectful, and direct. They would want to grasp power, and not allow him to be used by every single elder and competing cousin for more power and wealth. They wouldn’t do anything too obvious, wouldn’t order him in front of everyone and have him obey them immediately. That would be counterproductive. No, they would be cautious to retain their position of power. Everyone else – as much as they would argue and complain, he could not imagine them directly commanding him. He may in fact be able to get through this with minimal issues.

But no.

He was too practical to indulge in this fantasy. No, his policies would change in some way to favor the six who had cursed him so. Angered enough, even those loyal to him would lose respect, begin to speak to him more and more crassly, opening him up to orders. And then there were the casual orders, the turns of phrase that would be seen as direct orders.

They had implied a kitsune had done this, cursed him. He didn’t know which kitsune, or if he even needed the same kitsune or if another fox spirit could undo the work done to him, but his first priority would be to find one and interrogate it.

He would do his utmost to keep from being alone with any of those five, though they clearly could walk into his room and abduct him. He would have to definitely find a different place to sleep, one that the rest of the house did not know of. He would have to carefully weed through his bodyguards and staff members to see if he could identify the traitors among them.

He had to keep Genji from finding out.

If Genji knew… Genji was spoiled, and hurting. He would not understand - might even take _advantage_ of it. No, Hanzo would have to hope Izuku could speak up and argue with any bad decisions Hanzo would make under this curse, and work as privately and secretly as he could to undo what had been done.

His revenge, when he could do it, would be merciless. The anger deep seated inside of him boiled, and he was already planning on how to eliminate those that had done this to him.

***

“There has been much shuffling of your personnel in the past few days.”

It was the first meeting since his curse, and Hanzo was barely functional. He had taken to sleeping in different areas of the house, places where no one would expect, and it was a blessing in disguise that even though it was nearly November, the air was not too cold, as the most reliable sleeping space was the roof. He had slowly gone through most of his staff, dismissing almost all of them, and canceling all nonessential meetings. He had been cornered by Jin once, forced into signing off on a business venture Jin wanted – something he had immediately looked into and began throwing roadblocks before, whether the venture deserved it or not - and cornered by Noboru once, who had taken great, petty pleasure in making Hanzo do ridiculous tasks until the patrol came around the corner.

At the very least, that had confirmed in Hanzo’s mind that the five did not want others to know of the curse; Noboru had immediately stopped and left when the patrol had come into view. It gave him the smallest of leeway when it came to essential meetings like this one.

It was supposed to be nothing but a budget meeting, reviewing the intake from the local businesses and the requests for business loans from numerous merchants in Hanamura. Teiji bringing up Hanzo’s personal staff and bodyguards - it was out of the norm. It wasn’t something that would normally be brought up - and it certainly wasn’t supposed to be something any of the elders cared about.

As it was, almost everyone turned to look at Teiji with various faces of confusion.

“Yes,” Hanzo said, voice carefully measured to be bored and indifferent. He was dressed as put together as possible, make-up hiding the lines of stress and the bags beneath his eyes, and he didn’t even look up at Teiji. If Teiji was going to force this in front of everyone, there wasn’t much Hanzo could do, so no point in wasting energy worrying about Teiji’s game at this point.

Or so he told himself. His heart was pounding, and it took every ounce of his self control to keep his hands from shaking.

“Rehire them. There is no reason to fire them, and finding replacements will be a drain on our resources, and your time. You have canceled so many meetings, it would appear as if you need help leading the clan.”

The order sunk into his mind like a stone, and Hanzo could not stop himself from grimacing, even as he fought his tongue and mind, finally letting out a strangled, “If it so concerns you, I will rehire them.”

The other occupants of the table turned to look at Hanzo in studied astonishment - all except the five, of which Miyoko and Jin had their heads down, trying not to look at anyone, Teiji looked mildly panicked, Noboru looked angry, and Itsumi… Itsumi looked furious, a scowl on her face as she glowered at Teiji.

Hanzo leapt on that. He could use that – Teiji normally stayed in the Shimada family estate during the formal meetings. It would be child’s play to track him down.

Killing Teiji would sow dissent in the ranks of the remaining four, and get rid of one of his tormentors.

“You would rehire staff, simply on one person’s say-so?” his second cousin, Kisa, said, voice suspicious, and he could feel her power stirring to life as she looked between Teiji and himself.

He was supposed to keep anyone from finding out about the curse, and so he let out a deep sigh as he sifted through the papers. “If it so troubles an uncle what I do with my own personal staff, far be it from me to waste resources on finding new staff – such as wasting resources in decorating one’s house with genuine silk tapestries. How much is this charge, great-uncle? Seven million yen, for a single piece of decoration? I can see why you would not want any more money wasted.”

There was an explosion of noise, and Teiji’s face went purple-red in indignation. It distracted from the order, but Hanzo was sure he would suffer for the humiliation.

If he didn’t make Teiji suffer first.

After the meeting, Izuku remained at his side, while Itsumi waited for all the others to leave. When the room was empty, Hanzo lifted his eyes from the files and compu-tabs before him, letting his anger and ferocity shine in his gaze as he met hers.

She tightened her hands on her walking stick, and with a growl she snapped, “Send your aide away, Hanzo.”

The order was like a slap across his face, and before he could mitigate his words, he said, “Izuku, leave us.”

Izuku looked between the two of them, brow furrowed, and he bowed before leaving the room.

“You humiliated Teiji before the elders,” Itsumi said sharply.

There was no order, or question, in the words, and so Hanzo did nothing but stare at her, facing his doom head on even while he trembled inwardly.

“You are not to bring harm to any of us, in any way,” she finally said, voice pointed and heavy. “You are to protect us to the best of your ability.”

The order wrapped around his limbs and his heart, and he bared his teeth at her. “Be assured, dear grandmother,” he hissed, “one day, I will find a way to stand over your bleeding body, and you will not have _breath_ in your lungs to give me another order.”

“That day is not today,” Itsumi said impatiently. “You will not investigate any transactions made by any of us.”

Hanzo ground his teeth. “If you would hamper me so, how would I stop Noboru from gambling?” he snarled. “If you would make this request of me, how would I keep Jin from bringing back girls from his _enjo kosai_?”

Itsumi’s face twisted and she looked aside.

“Your order is set. I merely point out that as the _supposed_ oyabun, these are things that bring risk to the clan. You would have me ignore these,” Hanzo hissed. “Strange to ask, if the clan is really what concerns you.”

“Fine!” Itsumi barked. “You will reprimand those you need to, but you will _not_ investigate any transactions or doings done by myself or my people.”

Here, at least, Hanzo’s upbringing came in good standing – he spread his hands wide, smirking. “Your people? Is that your family? Your side of the clan? Your co-conspirators? Your bodyguards? Your people is undefined.”

“My bodyguards, and my family,” Itsumi snapped. “You will leave them alone. You will not harass them. And you will bring your brother to heel; he has not returned to the family estate for the past four days you have been so clearly trying to avoid being around people.”

The order twined over his body, and Hanzo had no choice but to stand up. “I will go find him, then, and do my best.”

“Bring him back to the house, and discipline him for his misbehavior,” Itsumi corrected. “That is what you will go do.”

“As you command,” Hanzo growled.

He couldn’t harm them, now. He had to try and protect them, even. He had to go try and rein Genji in – when Genji was consistently the only person who would casually toss orders about, regardless to whom he was speaking.

This would be a recipe for disaster.

***

“Your fingers are bleeding.”

Hanzo nearly jumped out of his skin; as it was, he dropped his arrow point and whipped around on his heel.

Izuku was standing there, eyes dark. Hanzo looked down to see that, yes, his fingertips were bleeding.

“Show me your fingers,” Izuku whispered.

Betrayed, Hanzo’s head jerked back, even as he lifted his hands, dropping the bow and arrows on the ground, to show his fingers to Izuku as Izuku had ordered.

Izuku looked at the bow and arrows on the ground, then at Hanzo’s trembling fingers held out so that he could see. “They have done something to you, haven’t they? Itsumi-sensei didn’t check to make sure I had left the area before speaking, and she was one of the ones rumored to be in your room recently. You’ve been favoring her branch of the family recently. She’s blackmailing you in some way, or has placed some power over your body and person.” Izuku stepped forward, and then realized Hanzo was still holding up his hands, the bow lying in the dirt. “Don’t hold your hands up anymore; or – how do they rescind orders? How are you supposed to - just, stop listening to my command.”

Hanzo regained control of his limbs and immediately picked up his bow, turning back to the targets that were riddled with arrows.

“I’m sorry. You’re upset with me, somehow – maybe because I did it, I ordered you,” Izuku said quietly. “I heard what happened with your brother.”

Hanzo would not look up from the bow in his trembling hands. He had to obey Itsumi, had to chase after his brother, and he had to ‘discipline’ him somehow. It had been almost impossible to drag Genji out of this newest bar; he’d drunk whiskey, which is something he’d never done before – _(“Drink, brother, get rid of that stick up your ass!” and Hanzo had had to drink, had no choice, but at least there was nothing physically in his ass for him get rid of, so that wasn’t a command he needed to follow)_ – and once he pulled Genji outside, well, Genji was hurting, but he was also _spoiled_ , and he had snapped commands at Hanzo like they were nothing.

_(“Go ahead, say it - say you are happy otosan is dead! You’ve always wanted the power, the praise. See, I knew it! You don’t deserve to be my brother. Hold your tongue! I don’t want to look at you anymore; get out of my sight!”)_

“I am guessing you cannot tell me what is going on,” Izuku murmured. “But I will do my best to be there for you until you can be free of whatever they have done.”

Hanzo had been brainstorming, looking for something he could do to those five, but the word ‘protect’ was extremely encompassing, and he had no idea how to wriggle his way around it. He had to protect them, but until he could justify what he did as ‘protection,’ as ‘no harm,’ he was stuck doing nothing at all. He had to get quicker at figuring out how to reword orders, not to obey the literal words. It was the only way to subvert the commands that were thrown at him – but he hadn’t had time to practice, to learn.

He had to get better at dancing through words and double meanings, very quickly.

“If you have nothing else to say to me,” Hanzo said shortly, not bothering to finish his words.

Izuku bowed respectfully. “Of course, kumicho-san.”

Hanzo watched Izuku return to the house, and then restrung his bow, grabbed another quiver, and fought to clear his mind.

***

“You will kill this target before the week is out.”

Hanzo looked at the picture before him and narrowed his eyes. He knew that Shigeru was petty, but having the teenager killed because the father had offended him was a new low.

Not that he could disobey the order. Still, he sneered at his great-grandfather. “The honor of the Shimada lies in the dirt, your shit staining it. It will be done, and I am so glad that _this_ is what you choose for my use.”

Shigeru slapped Hanzo, snapping Hanzo’s face to the side, his rings cutting lines into Hanzo’s cheek and brow. “Your father may have been lenient with you, but I have no patience for your yelping, dog. This target is priority.”

“Yes, of course,” Hanzo growled. “Much more important than the incursions of the Enzo clan in our territory, than the weapons smuggled past our territory without our permission, and the consistent trips of the estate’s wards, trips that no one can find the cause of – yes, of _course_ your petty disapproval of this child’s father’s business decision is priority.”

Sometimes, Hanzo could goad his tormentors into retracting the order, or modifying it. Shigeru, however, had always hated Hanzo and Hanzo’s “weakness,” and his power. He simply sniffed. “Your whining only proves that the clan’s leadership should have never fallen to such a weakling. You dishonor the family.” Turning on his heel, he exited the room.

Hanzo looked at the sixteen-year-old girl, laughing in the picture, and gritted his teeth, but could not keep himself in his chair. He got up and began to ready his swords.

***

Hanzo nearly passed out in gratitude when he heard his door open. Miyoko had cornered him in his quarters, and ever since Izuku had ordered him, Hanzo had been uncomfortable around him – and Izuku had picked up on that, had opted to stay out of Hanzo’s way, stay nearby Genji and try to keep the younger brother out of any serious trouble.

All of that just meant that Hanzo had been alone in his room – a rarity nowadays – when Miyoko had opened the door and stepped in.

He knew she wanted something he did _not_ want to give, but now he had no way of rebuffing her advances. Instead he had to stand there passively, inwardly screaming.

But the door was open. Even though it was another of his tormentors, it would put a stop to her advances. Hopefully.

All he had at the moment was hope.

Miyoko stepped back from Hanzo’s chest – his chest was bare, the fastenings of his pants loose as Miyoko had been undoing them. Itsumi walked into the room and stopped, eyes narrowing at the scene.

“What do you think you’re doing, girl?” Itsumi snapped, advancing into the room.

Miyoko looked as if she wanted to challenge Itsumi’s words, and Hanzo could feel the energy stirring on Miyoko’s skin – she was still that close – as she began to call her dragon.

Except, of course, the reason why the elders had both accepted and desired Hanzo and Genji to remain in line for succession was the power of their spirits; Miyoko’s spirit was small, sickly, a tiny tattoo on the side of her neck, and while Itsumi’s spirit was old and her body not as strong, her dragon was nearly the size of Genji’s – definitely larger and more powerful than Miyoko’s. With a hiss, Itsumi’s eyes glowed, her shoulders steaming as her spirit shifted restlessly under her skin. “Do you _dare_ challenge me, whelp?!” Itsumi growled, teeth sharper than human teeth should be. “Do you wish to go against _me_?”

“Who was it that found the kitsune?” Miyoko growled. “Who found the spell, and gathered up the ingredients? It wasn’t _you_!”

“Should I _thank_ you?” Itsumi snarled back, back lifting and arms elongating until she was barely recognizable as human, her dragon manifesting almost physically throughout her body. “Should I thank you for this, that you have ensured your well-being? You did not sacrifice anything! And here you are, a whore sullying the purest Shimada line we have had in centuries!”

“It’s not like he has _limited sperm_ ,” Miyoko snarled, hair glowing and floating around her head.

Hanzo’s dragons writhed beneath his skin, reacting to the power before him, and he felt the bonds around his body that had been holding him still flex and shift.

“You are not _worthy_ of carrying such a child!” Itsumi snarled, teeth lengthening. “Your line has been watered down and until we have secured a suitable heir you will not taint the line with your weak blood! Get _out!_ ”

Miyoko hissed in response, but turned on her heel and left, and Itsumi glowered at the closing door before turning on Hanzo.

“You are _forbidden_ to have sexual relations with anyone unless I tell you otherwise!” Itsumi snapped.

On the one hand… Hanzo was thankful that he had a reason to fight off Miyoko’s increased attentions and attempts to get him alone. On the other hand – he had had perhaps one or two partners throughout his life up to this point. He had hoped for something, some day, and now…

But he should at least be happy that he had an excuse to deny Miyoko. That’s what he would have to hold in his mind right now.

***

Hanzo had to admit that he wasn’t exactly paying close attention to the multitude of clan affairs the way he had done when he had first become the head of the clan. He was too busy now, running between these elders and his cousins who were focused on having him at his beck and call – and he was practicing his hardest with trying to twist the orders he received into something he could manage. He had never, his whole life, been this out of control.

He was also figuring out how to release his dragons. The orders had… well, he didn’t know what. He knew that his dragons couldn’t break the curse, but that didn’t explain why they no longer manifested fully the way they used to. He could play tag with them as a child; now, all he could do was bring up incorporeal bodies that floated in the direction he pointed them, sucking dry their targets.

He missed having his dragons – they had been his only companions, after Genji grew away from him, after his cousins became bitter and twisted against him because of his position and his magical strength. He’d tried to call them forth at the beginning, and every month he tried again, pulling at his power, at the strength he could still feel beneath his skin.

Every time, he failed.

Izuku knocked on his room door. “May I enter, kumicho-san?”

Ever since Izuku had given Hanzo an order, Hanzo had been leery – Hanzo had trusted Izuku, had seen Izuku as safe, until that order. Izuku had picked up on Hanzo’s discomfort, and so had stepped back from Hanzo’s life a bit, had given space to Hanzo. Not perfectly, of course; Hanzo needed his assistant to help him run the clan.

After a moment, Hanzo cleared his throat and licked his lips. “Enter.”

Izuku stepped into the room, head bowed respectfully. “The other heads of clans are present for today’s meeting. They are being served refreshments and are preparing for the negotiations.”

Hanzo stared at the mirror before him, the power flexing in his arm, the muted roar of his twin dragons twisting in the back of his mind. “Izuku, I must ask you a favor.”

Izuku, who had been exiting the room after laying Hanzo’s formal robes on the bed and placing the filosheets for Hanzo’s perusal on Hanzo’s workstation, paused. “Yes, kumicho-san?”

“Genji is your primary concern. You must, in all areas, be sure he remains safe. If that requires you to keep him away from today’s meeting, or from the clan elders, or covering up his… _many_ indulgences, so be it. Genji is to remain untouched.”

Izuku hesitated, the barest hint of uncertainty. But he was, above all, a loyal assistant. “Of course, kumicho-san. I will do my best for Genji-san.”

He exited the room slowly – clearly, he was waiting to see if Hanzo would add anything to the order or explain further, but Hanzo had no explanation, just a sinking feeling that Genji was next on the elder’s list. Kitsune were rare, almost impossible to control in any way, and it was luck – ill luck, but luck – that they had managed to find a beast as powerful as that and forced it to place this compulsion on him. Still, there were other creatures, deadly and dangerous, that could harm a dragon if the dragon was unaware.

And, to be quite frank, Genji was almost, _always_ , unaware.

***

“You have not brought your brother to heel.”

“You told me to obey all orders. You never specified yours. If you believe Genji never orders me around—”

“I didn’t ask for excuses!”

Hanzo could have replied, but he had long learned he earned worse orders and punishments when trying to explain himself, so he simply stared at the elder man. Shigeru’s face was red, the wrinkles deep-set as he stalked back and forth. Hanzo had been compiling and balancing the clan’s budget when Shigeru had stormed into the office Hanzo used when he be accessible to the clan, though his task was nothing but a cover. He had been searching through the financials, looking for the money trail that his tormentors must have left when searching for a kitsune.

He hadn’t expected Shigeru to come in – hadn’t expected anyone to come in, in fact, mostly because it was late at night, and the majority of the clan was at the winter retreat where there were hot springs and seclusion. Not the younger members of the clan – there were many still in the city for jobs, or for fun. Genji, he knew, was taking massive advantage of the fact that most of the elders were gone. He’d had to pay three different establishments last night – one to settle Genji’s tab, after Genji ran out of money, and two others to pay for repairs after Genji got into a fight in one and got too enthusiastic in another.

“You _will_ control your brother, or suffer the consequences!”

The order crushed down into Hanzo’s head, and he ground his teeth together. The orders, of course, never disappeared – they remained with him. New orders could overrule older ones, and as time passed the force behind the order faded, but they could flare up at the oddest moments. He’d practiced hard in the past months under this curse, learning to look for the loopholes, follow the letter and not the spirit, and sometimes he could worm his way through the words pressing on his mind.

“I understand,” Hanzo growled through gritted teeth.

“See that you _do_ understand!” Shigeru snarled. “I will not have this young cur sully the Shimada name. Your father knew he was weak, and did not push him as hard as he pushed you. Your mother knew he was weak, and in her own weakness coddled him and left you to your father’s whims. See that you _understand_ what your parents thought of you, and how they treated him differently than you!”

Shigeru whirled on his heel and stormed out of the office.

Hanzo sat still, working his way through the command. Controlling his brother could mean very many things, and Shigeru hadn’t specified. The order to understand… that was harder. Hanzo knew his parents had treated Genji must differently than himself – in part, because of Hanzo’s inherent magical power, and in part because Genji had always, for some reason, been Sparrow and not Warrior in the way Hanzo had had to be.

He understood, deeply and precisely, exactly what his elders expected of Genji. He knew what he would have of Genji – some level of respect, for one, and some decorum, for another – and he knew what Genji was most likely to do.

He was one hundred percent sure that the three did not align.

Whistling out a frustrated sigh, he returned to tracing the financial trail his family had left when searching for the means to control him. If he could find the trail, and find the origin of the kitsune, perhaps he could also find the kitsune and have it reverse the spell. At the very least, he could look at the financials and be sure the same pattern wasn’t happening again to bind Genji in this living hell.

***

“You’re _weak_ , Hanzo.”

Doing his best not to allow any emotion on his face, Hanzo simply jerked harder at the collar of Genji’s shirt, dragging him off his feet. “I am not the one overindulging regularly in this folly and excess.”

“The attack bitch of the council. Kissing up to them, yeah? You suck their dicks yet? Do everything they fucking say. Follow their orders like you’re a goddamned robot.”

The words were slurred and mumbled, but were orders nonetheless, and Hanzo felt them pound into his brain. “If you believe so,” he hissed, shoving Genji into the waiting transport to take them back to the Shimada estate.

Genji slumped sideways in the car, hair a vivid green this week, and those brown eyes were too sharp, too knowledgeable, to be anything but aware. “Everyone knows so. I’d think they’d regularly sucking your dick, but you’re too much of a prude to do it. Don’t ever stoop to having one-night stands, don’t ever be fucking human like the rest of us. Daddy’s perfect son. Never bend an inch.”

They weren’t directed at him, and Hanzo did his best to smooth the orders, push them away, because he knew Genji was hurting, that Genji was furious at how often Hanzo now came and chased him down in his drinking and whoring. That Genji was beyond angered at how much Hanzo nosed into Genji’s doings and business.

He couldn’t know that Hanzo was ordered to be on top of Genji, that Hanzo had no say in the matter. He couldn’t know.

He could be a bit more fucking observant, though. Would it kill him? The son of a yakuza family should at least be more paranoid than Genji was.

The orders locked around Hanzo’s wrists and tongue, but at the least, not being ‘human’ and being a ‘robot’ was up to Hanzo’s interpretation. Not having one-night stands… well, Hanzo hadn’t had very many assignations in the first place, and the few that he had were mostly bought and paid for. It wouldn’t hurt him to stop.

Not bending an inch, though, would be harder, and he chose to interpret the order literally. Instead of bending into the waiting car, he shook his head. “I will walk home. Take him and see to it that Izuku is informed that Genji needs him.”

If he had not chosen to walk home, he would not have noticed the casual tourist that looked… out of place. He would not have followed the man, only to realize the man was as skilled at dodging followers as Hanzo was at following.

It was an odd game of cat and mouse, and as the order to not bend wore off, Hanzo had to wonder.

Who was this American that had been far, far too interested in Genji and Hanzo than he should have been?

***

“I haven’t seen you use your dragons in quite some time, cousin.”

Hanzo didn’t turn his head. He didn’t have the energy to even acknowledge the words, let alone the mission itself. He had once enjoyed going on these reconnaissance missions, showing off his abilities and summoning his dragons to him. The rush of it had always fed him, and even when he’d hated doing so many missions, hated how he had gotten the bare minimum of approval for these missions after pushing so hard, working so hard – even after all that, the dragons had sung to him, rushing through his body. He had loved them.

Ever since he’d gotten this damnable curse on him, he hadn’t heard anything from his dragons, hadn’t heard them stir. He’d felt the power of them, throbbing in his arm, locked down, but there was none of the normal restlessness he’d get when his dragons hadn’t been summoned in a while.

Still, he had nothing to say to Aiko. She didn’t know about his curse, but there were times her casual words thrown out had caused him no end of pain. Society’s tendency to speak directly and clearly, to leave no wiggle room, had led to him trying to become very inventive when it came to language. He was always on his guard, and he had reduced his own words and responses down to the bare minimum.

When enough time had passed to let her know he would not dignify her words with any response, she clearly decided to change her approach.

“Your brother has been… very busy lately. Not a single nightclub untouched.”

Hanzo gritted his teeth. He knew almost exactly what was going to come next, and he was tired of it, tired of the repeated order over and over that his whole clan decided was suddenly their right to tell him.

“You must speak to him. The elders are getting more and more antsy. Remember what happened to Hideo.”

Arms folded, Hanzo stared out over the neon lighting, the dark shadows and bright hardlight projections, that painted Hanamura at night. The mission was in the end stages – most likely why Aiko had approached him now. He had used the ending of missions like these to observe weaknesses in his binding, to test whether he could summon his dragons _now_ , whether the chains locked around his muscles were any looser at all.

Already the half-formed plan of how he could escape, just… _leave_ —

“Remind Genji. Hideo is not the worst of what the elders could do.”

“Of course,” Hanzo bit off, forced to acknowledge his cousin’s words.

Aiko nodded, her small dragon tattoo glittering in the light – it curled around her eye, across her temple and down her cheek, a brilliant but tiny drip of power when compared to the rest of the Shimada clan. Still, she was one of the kinder of his cousins. She hadn’t put the urgency in the order that, say, Gorou had when he had cornered Hanzo over this.

She had a point, though. For all that it was the twenty-first century, his family had increasingly backward and restrictive views when it came to relationships. Hideo had refused to keep his sexuality a secret, refused to hide it, and had been banished from the clan – exiled without the family stipend, without support, and without protection. Hanzo did what he could in secret, but it helped that Hideo had hidden his last name to keep rival clans from realizing he was a Shimada.

Genji could be cast out of the clan in a similar manner. Left without money, without support, without access to the services that would keep him from becoming addicted or ill from his many, _many_ vices… Hanzo didn’t know if Genji would survive.

He had to speak to Genji anyway, what with Aiko’s command. Perhaps he could try this new tact, bring up Hideo, point out the many luxuries Genji would lose if he angered the clan to the extreme.

He could hope it would bring sense to his younger brother. Nothing else had yet.

Not that Hanzo could tell Genji that. Or, rather, not that Hanzo would be _heard_ in the way he intended to be heard. Genji was very good at not listening to what Hanzo meant. He always managed to misconstrue what Hanzo had intended.

Their quarry turned out the lights, laid down on his pillow and went to sleep. Hanzo’s eyes, improved and aided by his dragons’ magic, could pick out the little details of the man’s sleep. Hanzo may not be able to manifest his dragons outside of a battle situation, as he had done a month or two ago when marking his kill was necessary, but he could still pull from his dragons’ strength and skill.

“He’s out,” Hanzo murmured, leaning back on his heels. “He is unlikely to move for the rest of the night. Is Kazuo here?”

Aiko looked behind her.

Here, on the rooftop, the Shiamda-yakuza had posted up a blind to watch this man carefully. He had links to a rival yakuza clan, but until there was concrete evidence that he was looking to expand into Shimada territory they couldn’t touch him. So they watched, and Hanzo had volunteered to get out of the house for a rotation on this stakeout. He had hoped no one would care, or notice, but of course, he was the kumicho. No one would ever leave him alone for any respite.

With a heavy sigh, he stood up and turned around as a different man – third cousin, or fourth cousin, Hanzo couldn’t recall at the moment Kazuo’s connection to himself – came to relieve Hanzo of his duty. Once the clan found out exactly what this man was doing, they could decide what to do with him, and what to do with the clan that kept nipping at the edges of Shimada territory. The Shimada would not suffer the indignity of scavengers harrying their trade and cutting into profits.

At least, all of that should have been Hanzo’s focus, but his attention was elsewhere. His dragons were lost to him – not truly, as they still lent him strength, still pulsed under his skin… but they didn’t speak to him anymore. They would manifest when summoned, when cast forth to kill and raze his enemies, but they had no voice. Their roars were soundless; the deepness of their anger made the earth and air and stone vibrate, but beyond that… nothing. His dragons used to climb about his quarters, perch on his shoulders, chase butterflies and the koi in his personal pond. They used to weigh in on his decisions, comfort him as Genji grew apart from him and as his father grew ever more strict with him, and joke with him about elders that had been trying his patience.

Now, all he had was silence. In his mind, he was utterly alone. For years, he’d had two to always keep him company. These past seven months had been the quietest, most painful months of his life.

He couldn’t keep living like this. It was driving him closer and closer to the edge. He couldn’t fall down that spiral, not until he knew Genji would be safe, at least. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t that desperate, not yet. He wanted to escape, wanted his freedom back.

He’d have to find some time, somewhere, to really throw himself against the magical restraints burned into his flesh. He needed his dragons back for any successful escape. He had money stashed, skills that were honed, but he certainly would do better against any assassins if he had access to his guardians.

***

“Your brother comes in smelling of whores – and spycraft.”

This was the third person to complain of his brother’s proclivities today – and the second person to claim that Genji was peddling private Shimada information abroad.

This time, however, it was Chiyoko. Of all the people to come complaining about Genji’s entertainments, he would not have thought she would. She stayed removed from clan politics, more concerned with her own personal business and the small shop she maintained in the tourist district of Hanamura.

“He has been walking the streets with an American – and no tourist, either. If the children have come telling me tales, you can know for sure that they have told those same tales elsewhere. I don’t much care how you two feel about one another, but to speak to _Americans_ —”

“Thank you for telling me,” Hanzo said quietly. “I will… research the matter further. This requires a delicate touch, but swift response. You are right that if you are hearing it, it most likely has made the rounds through the elders.”

“Do not let this stand,” she said imperiously, and Hanzo winced at the command wrapping around his chest.

Now it was something else added to his plate, and he watched her leave. He had relaxed his watch and care over Genji due to conflicting orders that had him stretched in three directions because of his torturers, and he had the annual meeting with all the branches of the Shimada clan coming up in a week. He’d had many elders, since this curse and even before, complain to him about Genji’s actions, and even with everything they ordered him to do, he hadn’t had to reprimand or punish Genji (primarily because the only thing he _could_ do was curtail Genji’s stipend; Genji often ordered Hanzo to back off and Hanzo would be forced to listen).

What else could he do?

If Genji was, in fact, betraying the clan and revealing sensitive information… Hanzo didn’t know. The few cases where it had happened previously had been imprisonment in the Shimada estate after ritual mutilation, a warning drilled into all children of the Shimada from very young. The punishment was carried out by the head of the clan – in this case, Hanzo himself.

Could he do that? He would have said no, seven and a half months ago. Regardless of Genji’s wildness, he had never severely punished him and he certainly had no desire to. Realistically… he realized that he could be commanded to do it, to mutilate his brother.

He just got to the trash can in time to not dirty the carpet with his vomit.

The disposal unit was one of the newest models, so he set it to incinerate any evidence and shakily returned to his seat. He needed to leave, as soon as possible. He couldn’t remain here and be put in that situation. He would not let these creatures use him to tear apart his brother.

He didn’t have as big of a nest egg he would have liked, and he certainly didn’t exactly know where he would go, but there was a little-used and little-known estate near Kushiro that Hanzo could utilize. He didn’t even need much clothing or supplies – he was skilled enough to pilfer what he needed as he traveled without any detection, which would keep him from alerting anyone from his plans.

It was a short and easy decision; in a few hours, it would be dark enough to abscond from his office, leaving the door locked and the light on to further confuse family members, which would give him a sufficient head start. He locked down his browser, removing all his research, and considered carefully. If he disappeared… the clan might try to force Genji to take control. Would he be leaving Genji to worse than if he stayed?

No. No one in the clan would try to put _Genji_ in any position of power. They would ignore Genji’s very existence … He couldn’t even imagine who would be in power. No one was strong enough to force the clan to listen to them. Then again, he was certainly reaching the point where the clan would start fracturing and breaking apart; with the way that his tormentors constantly undermined his words while also ensuring he favored them, there was already dissension within the clan. He knew Jin or Itsumi would attempt to grab power and seat themselves where he was, but they were on the elders council and without giving up that power, they would be challenged at every turn. They would fight to make sure Miyoko and Noboru wouldn’t be in charge, and Shigeru and Teiji wouldn’t care one way or the other so long as they could continue focusing on their own pleasure and fortune.

Whoever rose to power would have to deal with infighting and dissent. Hanzo couldn’t find it in himself to care, not anymore. Before the curse, the clan had been his life, his altar upon which he worshipped. Now, he couldn’t breathe here, and fear paralyzed him every step of the way.

When it was dark enough outside, he slipped out the window and scaled up to the roof. As a child, this had been a great challenge, a way to see who was the better trained, who was the strongest and quickest – Genji may have been much faster with the sword and knives, but Hanzo had always outclimbed him.

From the roof, it was easy to make his way over the wall that surrounded the main house of the Shimada estate, then creep out in order to make it over the outer wall of the Shimada estate, and then he was disappearing into the crush of late-night foot traffic in Hanamura. He knew where the security cameras were placed, and knew the pattern of the overhead security drones; head lowered and clothes nondescript, he blended in as seamlessly as he could.

***

The estate northeast of Kushiro was quiet and still. It sat overlooking a valley, and was in one of the less populated areas of Japan nowadays. It had always been intended as a retreat, a relaxation. Hanzo had been there once, though his mother (and Genji) had visited it almost every summer for five years in a row during their youth. Hanzo felt that Genji and their mother would have continued vacationing there but then Koge Shimada passed away, and then the visits had stopped.

In the sprawling manor, Hanzo had the first vacation he had ever taken in his life. He didn’t turn on any lights, didn’t buy any food. He hunted in the surrounding woods, used the stream. Minimal living was key in order to keep his presence hidden. Yet even without having the net or the puzzle of the clan’s finances to keep him busy, he never got restless.

It was absolutely… _silent_.

No one giving him orders. No one speaking to him. No one _expecting_ anything from him. He had never been so at peace at any point in his life, before or after the curse. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been until his shoulders unknotted and his muscles loosened. He wasn’t constantly anticipating an order, wasn’t trying to keep his brain running hundreds of miles per hour to grab an order and attempt to reinterpret it so he could tolerate the command. He even could vaguely hear the whispers of his dragons in the background. He had attempted to call them forth, and felt that he had come the closest since the curse had been cast, about eight months ago.

Perhaps that was why he hadn’t expected the clan to find him. Oh, he had had a vague idea that his tormentors wouldn’t want to lose their victim, that the clan would need him to stand at the helm still, but even then, he hadn’t thought they could find him within two weeks. He hadn’t used any money, hadn’t done anything to indicate to the staff maintaining the estate that someone was living in it, hadn’t done anything except use the estate to sleep in and to use the steam room once or twice.

Still, he was completely surprised when he waded out of the river to see Noboru waiting for him on the engawa.

It was as if a physical weight came crushing down on his shoulders. The fish in his hand dropped to the dirt – might as well feed some land animal, because Hanzo wouldn’t be eating them tonight.

“You’re a fucking disaster, cousin,” Noboru sneered. “Making me travel around looking for you in these godsforsaken wilds. Suck my cock.”

The order jerked Hanzo, like a hook behind his navel, and he was so shocked by the order that he didn’t even have a chance to try and reinterpret the order, or fight it, or question it in any way. With stumbling, halting steps, he approached Noboru. He hadn’t thought Noboru’s proclivities included same-gender sexual encounters. Not that it mattered at the moment, as he dragged his feet over to the engawa, heart beating in his throat.

Still, he couldn’t really focus on the terror he was feeling at the moment. Instead, he noticed Noboru’s sneer, the way his hip was cocked. Unlikely that Noboru really wanted a blowjob right now – no, this was punishment, particularly because Noboru was upset to be made to travel around looking for Hanzo.

Falling to his knees, he lifted shaking hands to Noboru’s pants, undoing the button and pulling down the fly.

“Noboru, have you found him?”

Jin came around the corner, stomping his feet and glowering at his surroundings, only to stop dead when he saw Hanzo on his knees, reaching into Noboru’s pants.

“What the hell are you doing? Stop that! I don’t want to be out here a moment more than I have to!”

Hanzo violently threw himself back and away, chest heaving as he tried to steady his heart and breathing.

“For all this trouble, I feel he can do something for me,” Noboru began, growling, but Jin clearly wasn’t going to be patient for the explanation.

“If _you_ want to explain to Itsumi-san why we didn’t check in at the appropriate time, that’s your prerogative, but I am not waiting. If we found him, I am going _back_ to civilization.” Grumbling under his breath, Jin stomped away.

After the elder man left, Noboru looked over at Hanzo, who was still on his knees on the dirt, still like a bird caught in the eyes of a snake. Second after agonizing second passed before Noboru made an inarticulate snarl and stormed back into the house.

Light-headed and dizzy, Hanzo nearly missed the order Noboru snapped out. His body reacted before he could, and he stumbled to his feet and followed Noboru out to the hovercar.

When he was returned to the Shimada estate, Itsumi whipped him until he bled, then forbade him from dressing the wounds or doing anything with them, and _then_ forbade him from eating. The wounds became infected within the week, and Hanzo ended up in the emergency room. It took him another month to fully recover.

But what hurt him the most was that Genji didn’t even seem to notice Hanzo had been gone – both when Hanzo had escaped, and when Hanzo was in the hospital.

***

Hanzo stared out the window. He knew he was expected to give an answer, but of everything that had been ordered of him, his verbal response hadn’t been an order.

The filosheets and recording sat on his desk, damning evidence. Hanzo couldn’t save Genji this time, and in all honesty, he didn’t have any particular reason to. His problems were so much larger than trying to mitigate any consequences Genji had brought down upon himself.

Since his first escape, he’d managed to do it one more time. After that, Itsumi had placed a subdermal implant in Hanzo’s body. Where, he didn’t know – they had anesthetized him and then proceeded to keep him under until the scar healed. When he’d woken, he’d found over thirty scars over his body. He wasn’t sure if they had actually put that many implants in him, or – more likely – if they had put the implant in one place and done the other cuts to throw him off. Itsumi had also forbidden him from eating that time, too, and hadn’t rescinded the order until he’d passed out from hunger three times.

Hanzo had taken care to try and build himself back up in the past two months, but he was still on the skinny side, his clothes hanging loose, and his stamina shot. In the middle of all this, he was doing his best to block any new attempt to buy a kitsune, hunting down at least _a_ kitsune, if not the kitsune that had done this to him, draining the bank accounts of the clan so subtly that they wouldn’t notice, and run herd on the clan members who were aware something was wrong with Hanzo and were testing the reins at every given moment.

Izuku’s reports on Genji’s behavior were of the lowest priority; Hanzo had curtailed Genji’s stipend, sent Genji out on assignments that wouldn’t place him in jeopardy but would definitely get him out of Hanamura and away from the elders, had been cutting and cruel to Genji in the few encounters so as to discourage any further interaction between them. Everything short of exile, in fact – Hanzo had done everything in his power to isolate Genji from the clan.

Which made the evidence in front of him less of a shock and more of a sigh. With the proof that Genji had been passing information about the clan to the organization – Overwatch, it appeared – that had been wandering Hanamura’s streets for the past year. Hanzo had been warned by Chiyoko and Aiko and numerous other cousins. Genji was a favorite, of course; all the young cousins loved Genji. Genji was egregious, engaging, happy, eager to have fun. Hanzo had hoped the other cousins would be a restraining influence on Genji, though clearly it hadn’t worked out.

“Well?”

Miyoko’s voice was impatient, but Hanzo didn’t have to answer it and so he didn’t, just stared out over the cherry trees.

“You will make your brother regret betraying the clan.”

Shigeru. Hanzo felt the order coil around the base of his spine, and he let out a soundless breath, letting images and choices run through his brain as he tried to pick—

“You will _destroy_ him. Mutilate him, and end him. He will not be living past tonight.”

At that, Hanzo whipped around, lips curled up and, for the first time in so long, his dragons screeching in the background of his mind, rattling against their prison. “You cannot expect me to _harm_ —”

“A traitor? Find him and end him,” Shigeru said pitilessly. “You’ve killed members of the clan before on our orders. It shouldn’t matter.”

Even Miyoko looked nervous – Noboru was openly gaping at Shigeru – but of the three that had brought this information to Hanzo, only Shigeru looked as if he was really relishing telling Hanzo about it. Noboru had looked uncomfortable the whole time, and while Miyoko had taken pleasure in Hanzo’s misfortune (she’d tried over five times now, unsuccessfully, to force Hanzo to sleep with her, but thankfully Itsumi believed Miyoko weak and not worthy of carrying on the Shimada name, so she would never allow the final step), even Miyoko looked uneasy about the way Shigeru was twisting the knife in Hanzo’s back.

“I do not know where he is—” Hanzo began, voice guttural, realizing he was in this corner and there was no way out of it.

Mercilessly, maliciously, Shigeru smiled and said in his quavering, raspy voice, “He is in the dojo tonight.”

The one night Genji was easy to find.

It was starting to sink that Hanzo would really have to do this. That he would have to walk out to the dojo, find Genji, and destroy him. Mutilate him.

He was already looking for ways to work around it, because destroy didn’t mean kill. Mutilate didn’t mean kill. Mutilate just meant… maiming. He could do that without really harming Genji.

But he would have to lift a sword against Genji. Have to engage in a battle with his brother, who was just as skilled, just as quick – even quicker, if Hanzo was to be honest with himself – as Hanzo. Hanzo could control himself, to some degree, but he couldn’t control Genji and Genji’s reactions, couldn’t control what Genji would say to Hanzo.

“Right now?” Hanzo snarled out, and he was verbal, but inside his dragons were screaming, and he could feel the static in the air, his hair on end, the power vibrating painfully throughout his arm and chest. “This is what you choose for me to do?”

Those beady, vicious eyes didn’t flinch. “This is what you _will_ do. Find him, and end him.”


	3. Comatose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry to say that tHIS is the worst chapter; there is clearly direct attempted rape [incomplete, but the terror is there], non-consensual body modification, and hanzo's suicide attempt. the next chapter is the build-back-up, happy chapter)
> 
> (sorry)

“There. Don’t you feel better now?”

Hanzo could do nothing, nothing at all, but stare at the bloodstained ground. Izuku had come, had removed – had removed. Had. Had carried away. What was.

“Get up.”

Unwillingly, Hanzo found himself stumbling unsteadily to his legs. He had no idea who was talking to him. He couldn’t tell.

Genji. Was.

“How weak of you. Get yourself together. Go to your room. Change your clothes. You’re a mess. Absolutely filthy. You couldn’t have done this cleaner? Go clean yourself.”

Muscle memory alone – and those orders, those _goddamn_ orders, he had _no control_ – got him to his room, had him taking off his clothes. Muscle memory alone had him following the commands, and he couldn’t – he wasn’t processing – Genji – _Genji_ —

He stood in the center of his room and he was shaking, holding his bloodstained shirt—

Stained with _Genji’s_ blood—

He had killed his _brother_ —

He had to get clean.

He didn’t know how long he stood under the spray, but he knew that his skin was tight and painfully hot, the skin unnaturally red. It hurt to touch, and he was almost certain blisters were forming over his shoulders and collarbone, over his hands.

He should cut off his hands.

It was the first clear thought he had through the jumbled mess that was his mind after cutting down Genji. These hands had just killed his brother. He should – not just cut off his hands. He should kill himself. Deny his torturers the body they wanted to control.

It was a simple enough matter to find a sharp implement; whoever it had been that had told him to return to his room had not made sure he had returned without his katana and wakizashi. He had been told he couldn’t harm his torturers, but no one had ever told him to not harm himself.

The most elegant solution, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. Perhaps he had still been clinging to hope, expecting to find a way out of his predicament. But Genji was…

Genji was dead.

The words dropped like stones into the swirling mess of his thoughts, stilling everything, focusing him.

He had gone with the intention of following the letter of the order, not the spirit, and yet he had ended up doing both. He had torn through Genji’s body as if it were paper—

 _From behind, like a coward, slicing from belly to spine, words and orders roaring in his ears_ —

—had felt his dragons _screaming_ under his skin, burning through his body, and when he had gripped Genji’s shoulder, blue fire poured down Genji’s right arm and down Genji’s chest, up Genji’s arm, a true mutilation.

Just as he had been ordered.

The details stuck out vividly in his mind as he lifted the wakizashi and considered. He had no more honor, and didn’t deserve the ritual of it. Still, the swords were too long to effectively do anything other than disembowelment.

Hanzo kneeled on the ground, considered the still bloodied blades almost dispassionately. It seemed almost sacrilegious to mix Genji’s blood with the blood of Genji’s murderer, but needs must. Closing his eyes, he steadied his hand.

***

“If you had not called me—”

“But I did call you, and he is still alive.”

“Barely! He cannot die yet, not until—”

***

“What did you _think_ would happen?! I really do want to know!”

“For him to even consider this—”

“You _pushed_ him to this! It was unnecessary! His brother knew _nothing_ of any importance—”

“So we just let the feckless welp smear the clan in public—”

“Until we’ve finally undermined this one and finalized the deal, _yes_! What about that is so hard to—”

***

“I do not want to simply remove sperm and inseminate myself—”

“Can you think of anything _other_ than your cunt—”

***

“—do not like the way she speaks.”

“This was all her idea. She hasn’t steered us wrong—”

“Shigeru-san says—”

“Shigeru-san nearly killed the golden goose!”

***

“I know you are awake.”

Hanzo stared at the underside of his eyelids and wondered how evil he must have been in a past life, to be facing this hell on earth.

“You may not be pleased to know, but you were saved. Nearly weren’t, but thankfully Noboru is too stupid to realize that Shigeru had taken him and Miyoko because he didn’t want them to tell me about it.”

Hanzo had hated Itsumi as a child, and it was nice to know his instincts as a child were right.

“You may never take your life,” Itsumi hissed, voice suddenly much louder, and he assumed that she had leaned forward, spitting the words directly into his ear. “You don’t do a thing without asking me. Your usefulness has not yet run out, though you are trying my patience.”

Just _trying_ her patience?

Hanzo would have to step it up and see what it would take to let his next attempt lie.

***

On his fourth escape attempt after his failed suicide, he spent over three hours reopening every single surgical scar, doing his best to search for whatever implant it was that allowed them to track him. He didn’t know if it was just the blood loss making him dizzy, or because some of the cuts were in places that were very hard for him to see, but he couldn’t find the implant.

It had been Shigeru and Teiji who had found him that time, in one of the seediest clubs Hanzo could find. It wasn’t that he thought the club would deter anyone from hunting him down – he hadn’t found the implant, after all – but he had hoped that by bleeding out in a filthy bathroom, he would at least pick up an infection and perhaps die that way, without anyone realizing how sick he was.

Shigeru was incensed, and as the two of them escorted him from the club, he leaned into Hanzo’s space. “That is _quite_ enough, boy. Since ordering you not to run away isn’t working, I will find a more _permanent_ solution to your persistent stubbornness.”

Hanzo, ordered to walk with them back to the Shimada estate, could only hope there was a permanent solution to this hell.

***

Somehow, waking up without feet was not something he had envisioned in the slightest.

***

With the loss of his feet, of his ability to walk anywhere on his own, his spirit was effectively broken. He barely had the ability to run the day-to-day issues of the clan. He definitely wasn’t respected, anymore, and the hoverchair did nothing to improve his standing. He was rapidly losing control of the further branches of the clan, and the police were unhappy with his inability to keep the guns and drugs off the streets in the way that he had used to been able to do. The other clans were whittling away at the Shimada territory.

The daily reality of waking up and having part of himself _missing…_ the fear, the terror, the unceasing orders that came now not only from his initial tormentors but now all the rest of the clan once they realized he had to do what he was told to do – all of it had brought him to a state of numbness. He had no energy, no drive. He didn’t even have it in himself to try and find a cure, anymore. What use was a cure, with Genji dead, with the clan burning and crashing and infighting, with his legs ending in stumps?

Every morning he woke up, heart pounding out of his chest as he quickly grabbed at his body, worried that this time he’d wake up missing even more body parts. He stopped being able to eat, being able to sleep, being able to take care of basic hygiene. If there was one slight sliver of a silver lining, it was that his dragons were suddenly more restless than ever, slamming against whatever controls kept them bound to his skin. He began shocking and burning anyone who touched him, who tried to do anything.

It took basic orders to get him to approximate anything close to self-care. And it wasn’t as if they didn’t try long-standing orders – three times Itsumi had ordered him to ‘eat when hungry and keep himself presentable.’ Yet he was never hungry, anymore, and he had no one to present himself to. Jin had ordered him just to eat, and Hanzo had obligingly ate until he vomited up his food, then started to eat again until Jin, disgusted, ordered him to stop.

Hanzo threw it all up again, anyway.

After a month and a half of this, Miyoko clearly had enough. She had ordered Hanzo to follow her, and then took him into a hovercar and through the winding streets of Hanamura.

“Itsumi-san just wants a good price for you, and Shigeru-san never thought you were worth all the effort. Jin and Teiji are both morons, and Noboru won’t notice or care,” she explained, fingers trailing down Hanzo’s chest as Hanzo, frozen still from her order to not move, screamed in his mind at the unwanted touch. “Jin and Teiji wanted freedom to pursue their follies, but their support made it easier for Itsumi to sway Noboru, who had the money for the kitsune. Shigeru had been a necessary evil, though I wish I hadn’t asked to bring him in. His support was crucial but has long outlived its usefulness now. No, now Itsumi-san just wants you to keep the clan on its last legs long enough to show how bad a leader you are before selling you to Talon. Their brainwashing technique leaves much to be desired, so a true puppet like you would be a treat for them, something they want desperately.”

Her nails trailed over his genitals, and Hanzo shuddered.

Mouth turning into a pout, she snapped, “Don’t shy away from my touch.”

Again, her fingers dipped low, and Hanzo stared straight ahead as his dragons roared against his skin – he could feel the tattoo burning the fibers of his kimono.

“In any case, she thinks she can wile away two or three more weeks before your incompetency is finally called into question by the council. Me, I can see the writing on the wall. You will not last that long. Once the council calls for your removal, Itsumi-san will take you and sell you – and I will lose my chance at the power that courses through your veins. So. We will do this the fun way first. A little treat, I suppose, for being such a good dog, though I believe I will enjoy it more than you. And then we will do this the not fun way. While I confirmed my fertility and made sure everything is in order, conception is not a guaranteed item in any case. If this doesn’t work, at the very least I had fun, and I will have your sperm to try again.”

All Hanzo could do was sit there in the back of the car while an omnic drove them towards the city. Miyoko had an apartment there, western-style, and while Hanzo knew his tracker was still around and working – Miyoko was one of the first six. Would anyone bother to look for him when they knew she was with him? Would they care? Only Itsumi disliked Miyoko’s plan, and that was because Miyoko’s side of the family had ‘impurities’ – they were not pure Shimada, and did not have a perfect pedigree. Miyoko’s dragon was weak and sickly, and Miyoko’s mother was prone to diseases and sicknesses. Miyoko’s ancestral branch was far enough away from the initial family that it was practically luck that had allowed Miyoko to rise so high within the clan in the first place.

If Itsumi noticed that Hanzo was with Miyoko, she would come. Odd, to now rely upon the devil for his salvation.

The car hummed to a stop, and Miyoko sighed. “Well, come on. I’m not going to carry you out; you brought that punishment on yourself, trying to escape every other week.”

‘Come on’ had a variety of meanings, and Hanzo didn’t believe it had any real urgency, so he instead ran his finger over his communicator. Who could he contact? Should he contact Itsumi? It seemed wrong to beg his tormentor for help. His pride was… well, was broken, beaten, almost nonexistent, but ignoring and destroying his family’s hopes and dreams was all he had left to him. But who else could he call? Genji, well… Genji had been dead almost half a year now. Even if he wasn’t, Hanzo doubted Genji would have come if he had asked.

He could only hope. He’d assigned this person elsewhere, had pushed them away, but perhaps they would at the very least pass the message along to someone else.

“Get on with it, get out. I don’t know how long that old bat will be distracted with her granddaughter.”

Hanzo heaved himself off the seat, using his arms to move himself to the doorway reluctantly. Even with the severe weight loss, his upper arms remained defined as he now had to lift himself from bed and do all of his movement with his arms.

His hoverchair was waiting, but she didn’t tell him to get in, so he started to lever himself out of the hovercar.

Unfortunately, Miyoko turned around and hissed. “Get in the chair, Hanzo, stop being difficult. I don’t know why you still keep trying to throw a wrench in things. It’s over, don’t you see? There’s nothing more you can do. Just wait to be sold like a good puppet and _stop disobeying me_.”

The order blew past him, even with the emphasis she put. He couldn’t disobey her in the first place; it didn’t matter in the long run. Instead, he reached over to the hoverchair, maneuvered and settled the chair in receiving position, and then set the chair to its hovering default.

“Took you long enough,” Miyoko snorted. “Well, then, follow me.”

In silence, Hanzo had his chair follow behind Miyoko to the elevator and inside.

“You’re going to shower when we get upstairs. Itsumi-san might think your lack of care of your body and your health is a sign you’ve broken, but I watched you grow up. I know what you’re like, saw you with your brother. This is just another way for you to disobey, and so I won’t have any of that.”

While she wasn’t wrong, she hadn’t paid a lot of attention if she thought that she had seen all the ways Hanzo could disobey. Keeping his face as blank and bored as possible, Hanzo waited for the elevator to stop and the doors to open. Miyoko walked out, and made it almost five steps – the elevator’s doors were beginning to close – when she realized Hanzo hadn’t followed her.

“Follow me to the apartment, you son of a bitch. Putting you under this curse has been more trouble than its worth, I’d swear.”

Slowly, as slowly as he could dare, Hanzo nudged his chair to follow behind her. She keyed open the door, turned around, and narrowed her eyes at Hanzo.

“Come here, to my side, immediately,” she snapped.

He had been squeaking along; now, he pushed his chair to unsafe speeds to zoom over to her. For a moment, a look of satisfaction crossed her face – and then she realized he was moving too quickly, going to hit into her.

“Stop!” she shouted, and he jerked his chair to a halt, eyes downcast – to hide his fierce amusement at her panic.

“Always making things go the hard way, hmm, cousin?” Miyoko asked, voice saccharine sweet and twice as deadly. “You are going to come inside my apartment as quickly and quietly as you can manage. Then you are going to go back to the bedroom and wait for me there.”

Hanzo kept from growling verbally and instead moved into the apartment and went to the bedroom, figuring out where it was by process of elimination.

Surely she wouldn’t just come in and… and _straddle_ him. She had already said that she wanted him clean, so there was going to be that delay. And then… she liked looking at him. She may just stare, which was bad enough, but at least it wasn’t… but she brought him here for one reason and one reason only.

On the one hand, he was very scared because he didn’t want _any_ part of this, he didn’t want to sleep with her, he didn’t want anything to do with her. On the other hand, he’d never slept with a woman, and he didn’t want to do this as his first. He hated it, hated that he was forced into this. He could barely see around the room, fear making him blind as he searched for any opening, any thing he could do to stop this from taking place.

He wasn’t sure how long it had taken her to come back, but he was dragged out of his panic into the more immediate terror of hands touching his jaw, tugging on the rough beard that stubbled over his chin and jawline. “Go into the washroom, clean yourself. Nice and presentable, as if it were your wedding night. After all, as a Talon weapon, you won’t have any other wedding night.”

In the washroom, Hanzo did his best to delay as long as he could. It wasn’t that hard – the washroom clearly wasn’t made with a handicapped person in mind. The hoverchair could not fit, so he had to drag himself out of the chair and shuffle on palms and ass into the washroom. He could have walked on hands and knees – he did so in the privacy of his own bedroom – but the stubs were tender and he wasn’t going to debase himself any more than absolutely necessary in Miyoko’s presence. Once inside, he had to lift himself up onto the toilet, awkwardly reach around to use mouthwash (spitting into the shower, since he couldn’t reach the sink), and then pull himself into the shower (he wasn’t going to use the secondary room and tub, no matter how much time that would use up).

He used the time in the shower to really take his time, carefully washing every bit of himself he could. The longer he took, the more he could look for a way out.

Each new order lessened previous orders, though the previous orders never really disappeared. He might forget he was told to do something, but if he remembered, the order still carried weight. If he didn’t follow through with an order, resisting it, it was as if his very blood was on fire, burning in his veins until he seized. In the very beginning, he had resisted, but after finding that once he seized and woke up and the order was still in place, and the pain started all over again, he had applied himself to finding loopholes.

There were a multitude of ways to interpret words, even when people thought they were being very direct and strict. Delaying or taking his time in the bathroom was one way; telling him to ‘treat this as his wedding night’ was such an ambiguous order that it could be interpreted in a variety of ways. Wedding night could mean many different things depending on people’s perceptions, and so until a more direct order came he could easily ignore it.

He had to hope she gave another order, at this point. Something that he could interpret in a way different than what she meant. He couldn’t harm her, not directly, couldn’t kill himself. He didn’t want to have sex, but he doubted she would have a drug for impotence in her bathroom.

…She might have drugs in her washroom cabinet, though. Miyoko’s branch of the family had dealt and peddled various types. And drugs of any kind should affect his ability to become hard. At least, eighty percent of drugs should prevent him from becoming hard if taken in a large enough amount.

Of course, he’d never done drugs before. Genji had – he’d come home smelling of the various vices the Shimada would sell in the underbelly of Hanamura – but Hanzo had always kept his body as pristine as possible because of how strict his tutors had been.

Could just one dose do enough? Prevent him from becoming hard, prevent Miyoko from getting what she wanted, frustrate her enough that she made a mistake that made it possible for him to leave?

First he’d have to _find_ drugs. Miyoko might be a petty bitch, and cruel, but she was also smart. Would she take the drugs her family sold when she knew their side effects? Would she keep them in the washroom?

She might. He wouldn’t know until he looked. He opened the shower door, heedless of the water that came out with him as he pulled himself towards the small cabinet under the high sink. There were the typical towels, and two unmarked bottles of pills.

He had no idea what they were, and he didn’t know if he wanted to take strange pills without even the slightest clue as to what the pills were. As he dithered, there was a banging noise on the door.

“Get out, Hanzo! You can’t delay this any longer.”

Cursing under his breath, Hanzo moved to turn off the shower and towel himself off. Then he pulled on the hakama and kimono, grabbed the bottles of drugs. Whatever they were, he could distract her for a few seconds, and if she revealed what they were perhaps he could quickly swallow enough to impact his libido.

Opening the door revealed Miyoko had undressed and was lounging back on the bed, absently playing with herself. She frowned when she saw him dressed, and her mouth opened.

To forestall any order, he held up the pill bottles and rattled them. “Using, Miyoko? No wonder Itsumi is so upset with you all the time. You know, drugs can’t improve the performance of your dragon, no matter what all the cousins say.”

“Of course you would go poking around where you’re not wanted,” Miyoko growled, sitting upright.

“What are they? Certainly not street dragon or sleep; I can’t imagine you willingly using depressants of any kind,” Hanzo cut in. “Streak? Or Brighteye? Which one? Or something much harder than that? You know drug runners that sample their own wares end up the prey of other drug runners.”

Miyoko’s mouth curled into a snarl, her dragon tattoo glowing faintly. “Still trying to lecture me, _cousin_? You, who have been living in your own filth for a month now at least, _you_ presume to lecture _me_?”

“It just seems like if you want Itsumi to start taking you seriously, you shouldn’t—”

“Take me _seriously_?!” Miyoko snarled. “She hates me for something my _grandmother_ did! You know, no wonder Genji was well liked and you weren’t – you always seemed to believe wholeheartedly that the elders were gods on pedestals, when all the rest of us could see that they were bitter, old people! They treated us like _shit_ and you sat there and smiled and asked for more! We at least were smart enough to realize there would be no pleasing them, and did as we wanted. You, how did your approach work out again?! How did it fare for you?! Because I’m here, and you’re there, you’re _missing parts of your body_ , you’re about to sleep with me even though I know you don’t like me, I know you _despise_ me, and yet I am about to make you sleep to me because _you can’t say no_. How has your approach worked for you?”

There was a banging on the apartment door.

Miyoko whipped her head towards the door, and from his spot on the floor, Hanzo found himself thankful. Whatever this was, whoever it was, he had a chance now.

He pulled himself into his hoverchair and got himself situated while Miyoko shrugged on a kimono and made her way out of the room.

Soft noises, and then a thud. Quick footsteps, and then the bedroom door was flung open.

Izuku stood there, a taser in his hand.

***

“I’m taking you to a doctor who can create you prosthetics.”

“They’ll follow me. They – they know, I have an implant—”

Izuku’s fingers tapped nervously against the control panel of the hovercraft. “The only kind of implants we use often can be undone with electrical shocks, but a significantly high voltage. It will be dangerous.”

Unwillingly, Hanzo let out a high-pitched… giggle, was the only word he could think that described it. “You – you have no idea how little that means to me.”

Izuku glanced back at him, and then looked ahead. “Well. Let’s find you a power plant, then. A generator, maybe.”

***

Izuku must have carried Hanzo back to the car – or, at least, back to the hoverchair and then steered the chair back to the car, because Hanzo woke up, skin blistered and burned painfully, dragons growling and flexing beneath his skin.

“I can tell there are people following us.”

Izuku’s words were tight, and Hanzo became aware that their car was speeding much faster than would be normal. His body was rebelling at the level of stress he’d been through today, the large shock, the sustained state of terror, so it took him a moment to realize what Izuku was saying.

If he could summon his dragons… He glanced back, quickly picking out the sleek hovercar that looked familiar. “Where is this doctor?”

“He lives near Abashiri, on the coastline. He used to be a specialized doctor, until he failed an operation. Your grandfather cast him out, and he left. He has no love for the Shimada, so he’s your best bet.”

Hanzo flexed his arm, the dragons desperately trying to break free. It was draining his strength to have them burn through his sleeve and pulse through his body.

“Is – have you been able to summon your dragons since the… whole thing?” Izuku asked quietly.

Hanzo stared at the car, fist flexing, and shook his head. “Sent out on assassinations, I was ordered to use them, and did so for killing. That has been it. I haven’t been able to summon them outside of—”

“Kumicho-san, use your dragons however you wish. They’re yours, and no one can take them from you.”

Hanzo didn’t even have a chance to register the command Izuku had said before his dragons boiled forth, shooting forth and out of the car.

He supposed that if it was his dragons doing the harming, it wasn’t really _him_ doing it, now, was it?

***

Izuku stopped the car at Mombetsu and turned around. Hanzo was sure he had a fever; he was in and out of focus, his dragons’ first voluntary manifestation (for a definition of voluntary) draining almost all energy he had, and his reddened and burned skin tight and overly sensitive.

Stepping out of the car, Izuku unloaded the locked down form of the hoverchair, and then initiated the start-up sequence. Then he opened the door and offered his arm to help Hanzo out of the hovercar.

“It won’t be easy, to find him. He’s not someone who wants to be found. But this is his last known address. I know you’ve been siphoning funds from the clan, and you’ve been allowing some of your cousins more leeway than needed,” Izuku said quietly. “If I return, they will have me executed. I am heading farther north, to a cousin from the other side of my family. I doubt anyone else knows their name, or my relationship to them, so I should be safe. You will need to travel further east, and then stay out of their way.”

Hanzo leaned forward, grasping Izuku by the forearm, and gripped tight. “I cannot thank you enough. You—” His words caught in his throat, tears beading in his eyes, his hands trembling and making Izuku’s arm shake. “You t-tried to take care of G-Genji. You tried to take care of me, when I didn’t deserve it. You saved me, when I had given up hope. I don’t – I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Li—” Izuku began, and then he caught himself. Clearing his throat, he clearly was rethinking his words so that he didn’t give Hanzo an order. “I would love for you to try your best to move past the clan. I would like for you to live, and live well, to spite them.”

And it wasn’t perfect, Hanzo could still feel the light touch of compulsion, but it was an order he would be glad to obey.

***

If there was one part of life on the run he found that he liked – for a definition of liking, at least – it was that he had found out by being continually drunk, he couldn’t really respond to orders. And there were _so many orders_ in the outside world. Even as simple as ‘hold the door’ and ‘get that for me,’ to ‘go fuck yourself’ and ‘piss off.’

Drunk, however, he couldn’t really comprehend everything said around him. He couldn’t respond properly. Someone shouting ‘go on, show us what you can do’ ended up garbled and half-heard, so half-followed.

He spent the better part of a full year insensible, until assassins caught up with him in Nemuro. There, he nearly ended up following them back to the Shimada clan because he had been careless due to his impaired state.

So he disappeared into the forest and mountains until he could secure passage, and then he traveled south, as far as he could go to escape his clan’s control, ending up in the wilderness of Hachijo.

And it was in Hachijo where he found the kitsune.

***

He had thought he had been hallucinating, at first. He’d used a multitude of depressants in his year and a half away from the clan, so he hadn’t quite trusted his eyes, particularly because he was fighting a fever and feeling sick and nauseated. He didn’t quite want to go into a city, no matter how desperate his situation seemed, in the slight chance that his movements to this island had bene tracked. The clan had been very determined to reacquire Hanzo, and had searched for him relentlessly. So, in essence, when a white fox appeared around the corner, Hanzo simply thought he was seeing things.

His dragons, however – more wild than ever, more likely than ever to manifest at the slightest provocation, as if trying to make up for all the times they couldn’t manifest – his dragons recognized the kitsune and leapt out of his skin, dragging what little energy Hanzo had left to him. His control over them was weakened by the depressants, as well, and just by being out of practice with allowing them to manifest on their own.

_< <If it isn’t the little princeling. I remember you.>>_

Hanzo’s mouth dropped open, and he stood dead still. “You… you put this curse on me,” he whispered.

 _< <Yes, in exchange for my freedom.>>_ The voice was much larger, much deeper, than Hanzo would have expected from such a tiny creature. Clearly, the small body was hiding something much stronger. _< <For that, little cousin, I apologize, but in the end, you appear to have gotten free.>>_

Hanzo involuntarily let out a laugh, and then another, and then he was laughing hysterically, tears blurring his vision and limbs shaking from the storm of emotion. “Take it back. Take it back, I beg you, I _beg you_ , please, take it back!”

Power, greater than Hanzo had ever felt, pressed against Hanzo’s back, curved around his shoulders and head, nuzzled against his chest. _< <If I could, I would, little cousin. My freedom was for this spell. For me to undo it would be to send me back to slavery – and there would be no guarantee I could undo it. It has sat on you for three years. It has bound itself to your spirit, and to unbind it could kill you.>>_

“I will take the chance, I will die, just please, please take me out of this hell,” Hanzo begged.

The kitsune huffed, air ruffling Hanzo’s wild hair that hung about his head in a greasy tangle, blowing through Hanzo’s dragon and making their scales stand on end. _< <I will not return to captivity because you hate _your _bindings. Make the best of it. Oh… princeling. >>_

The order ‘make the best of it’ had already taken hold, already held onto him, and he had forgotten how much he had hated hearing those orders. He’d lived so long on his own, away from human civilization, that he had forgotten that unique paint hat came with an order being set in his mind. He glanced at the kitsune, trembling, hands clutching desperately at the ratty clothing and pine brush.

_< <I will not remove the curse, but I will give you this – satisfaction. Make your family pay, for what they have done to you, for what they forced on me. Destroy your clan. Dismantle them entirely.>>_

The orders coiled in his heart, wrapping around his chest like barbed wire, sinking in and dragging down. He had never wanted to see his clan again, and now he had to destroy them.

Though, to be completely fair, it was an order Hanzo found not too devastating, since it fell in with his own desires.

***

When he was confronted on the anniversary of Genji’s death, about seven years since he encountered the kitsune (seven years of having to obey the kitsune’s order without harming the six he could not harm, seven years of trying to destroy his clan while not being caught by his clan, seven years of sleeping with an eye open, seven years of trying to walk a fine line between following conflicting orders without gathering anymore) – when he was confronted in the dojo, his yearly ritual interrupted, he listened to the thing claiming to be his brother, and considered what his next step would be.


	4. Waking Up

His research on the new, burgeoning, vigilantism-inspired organization didn’t do much to inspire faith in what the cyborg was telling him to choose. They looked rather erratic, and the few Hanzo could identify as part of the group didn’t really elicit a feeling of safety.

Still, he needed to find out if this was really his brother. He… even to this day, his nightmares had many flavors, but the most heart-twisting ones, the ones that made it hard to wake up in the morning, were the ones where he remembered that dojo, that night, that… _mess_ he’d left of his brother’s body.

Izuku had removed what he had thought was Genji’s body. He wondered, now, what Izuku had done. Clearly, Izuku had passed the body on to someone else. Only a Shimada could control the dragons, and even then, only Genji could manifest the emerald scales of Ayame, and only Ayame could speak to Hanzo’s own dragons, convince them to turn back and chastise their master rather than destroy the one threatening him. So he knew there was _something_ of Genji in that omnic body, but to what purpose, why would this creature appear _now_ of all times, and why would they want Hanzo to come and look into _this_ organization…

Hanzo had had enough manipulation to last him ten lifetimes. He had done his absolute best to regain what little bit of his dignity and life he could with the curse still hovering over him. He didn’t want to propel himself into another bad situation because he was blindly following something that was designed to pull on his emotions and upset him.

At the very least, the order to pick a side was more pressing than the kitsune’s order that had been driving him all this time. He spent a good month researching and tracing the money trail of the newly recalled ‘Overwatch.’

He hadn’t really cared about Overwatch back before the curse, and then afterwards he had known they had been sniffing around Hanamura, and that his brother had been passing information to them, but that had been it. Now, really looking, he could find proof of Genji’s existence. An old newspaper and even a short clip of security footage showed Genji in Rialto, of all places, and then again in Havana. There were other, smaller mentions of Genji, small pings, and as Hanzo dove into the wealth of information available to him as someone used to sliding through the darker parts of the net, he realized that Genji must have been a part of Overwatch for much longer than even his family members had suspected. The amount of resources poured into Genji’s body – and the pictures, while blurry, gave Hanzo enough of an idea about how much of Genji’s original body survived Hanzo’s hand, and how much hadn’t.

He didn’t know why Genji would want _Hanzo_ back, though. The first thing Genji had done when finding Hanzo at the dojo had been to – well, not attack. But he certainly didn’t do anything to discourage Hanzo’s initial attack.

Genji had left Overwatch (rather, Blackwatch, Overwatch’s dark shadow that only people like Hanzo’s clan was aware of existing) almost a full year before it had imploded. Where Genji had went, and then where he’d lived, Hanzo couldn’t find. He had searched and looked, but not find the slightest hint. Either Genji had gone deep underground, which was possible, or he had been outside of where Hanzo’s contacts could find him – less likely, but still possible.

At the end of his month of research and arguing back and forth, Hanzo finally decided to initiate contact. The worst that could happen, after all, was that this organization would refuse to accept Hanzo.

Considering they were all close friends with Genji, Hanzo knew that likelihood was very high.

But that was the worst. The best-case scenario was where Hanzo was accepted, and had time to try and reconnect with his brother. Perhaps his brother had matured, and grown up. Perhaps the fight they had had at Hanamura had been reflex, not because Genji was hoping to harm Hanzo in any way.

Genji had been the person most liberal with casual commands to Hanzo during Hanzo’s curse. Hanzo was most likely opening himself up to a wide range of commands he couldn’t control – in a language he was not fully familiar in, which would impede his ability to interpret directions different. So far, Hanzo lived on the edges of civilization, harrying and worrying at the Shimada clan, slowly tearing apart what he could. By living so isolated, he had limited how many people would talk to him, how many orders he would hear.

Going to live in the middle of an organization – an organization Hanzo didn’t trust, based on its past, and an organization that didn’t look supremely organized, based on the few missions it had sanctioned so far – seemed to be the height of stupidity.

The lure of reconciling with Genji was stronger than any doubt, any nervousness, any qualm Hanzo might feel.

“You have used an unauthorized communication device to establish a connection to a secure line.”

The voice was vaguely feminine, soft and robotic. A VI, most likely, a virtual intelligence that would run and maintain security. It made sense, and Hanzo sighed before replying, “My name is Hanzo Shimada. My brother Genji has approached me about signing up with the organization he currently works for, and I find myself amenable to listening to his request.”

A long pause, and then a soft hum. “One moment, please,” the VI murmured, and Hanzo waited to see what this new chapter of his life would bring.

***

“C’mere, tell us some stories about Genji! You’ve been so silent – like a ghost!”

Hanzo froze, heart pounding at the command that grabbed him and pulled him towards the small lounge area he’d been trying to slip past. He’d only been here a week and he’d done his best to ignore everyone, slipping past any big groups. Part of the problem, of course, was the language barrier. It took him a bit longer to translate the words, and it was much harder to slip around or trick his mind into accepting the words as something other than commands.

Ironically, the hardest part wasn’t the orders – the orders he received, though numerous, were fairly benign, and people seemed to assume he was either very kind (why they would think so, he had no idea) or he was trying to fit in by listening to everyone – no, the hardest part was that everyone was… _accommodating_. For all that he was a murderer, for all that this team knew his brother, knew what _Hanzo_ had done to his brother, they were legitimately trying to accept him. He knew this, which was why he felt guilty for his cold voice, brusque manner, and determined desire to not be around anyone.

But there were _so_ _many_ _orders_. It was how people spoke, saying this as if it was expected and understood that people would say no if they desired to – only Hanzo _couldn’t_ say no.

Not that they knew that.

He walked over to the couches where – the young ones, the singer, Lucas? Lucio, Lucio and Hana, if he was remembering correctly – there were two people sitting. There were others in the lounge, of course (which was why Hanzo had avoided the lounge for so long), but it was those two beckoning him over.

“You’ve gotta have some funny stories about Genji. You’ve known him for so long! Tell us something to hold over his head,” Hana urged.

Tell them… what, exactly? Tell them about the time Hanzo had been called before his father because of Genji sneaking out of the house? Tell them about how often Genji had hated that Hanzo would be called away by the elders for training? Tell them about holidays where Genji sulked and hated all the pomp and ceremony that Hanzo had hated just as much, but had to pretend to like to try and convince Genji to participate so that he wouldn’t get in trouble?

Hesitantly, Hanzo began, “There was… one time, when we were both very young. We did not like one of our tutors, an etiquette master who taught us how to conduct ourselves as becoming proper heirs of the Shimada clan.”

He could tell from the looks on the faces of the two, it was not an auspicious start, but they never said it had to be a good story, or even a funny one – just something they could ‘hold over Genji’s head’, whatever that meant to Hanzo. If Hanzo decided it meant that the story would be one where they could use to get out of Genji urging them to meditate, well, they hadn’t specified otherwise.

“We had been practicing our poise, and grace. How to address visitors, how to recognize our betters and how to maintain ourselves with dignity. Genji was always very agile, and the obstacle course was his strength. I would still make some small mistakes.”

He made a lot of mistakes back then, worried for Genji instead of focusing on his own performance. He had been nine, Genji six.

“Our tutor had a tendency to always tell us that there was only the first place. Second place did not exist. There was a winner, or a loser. Genji was very quick, and fast, and he would always complete the obstacle course very quickly. It would anger our tutor, because when it came to being respectful, or remembering the proper way to do any of the Shimada rituals, he was very bad at it. One day, our tutor decided we must learn to meditate.”

“Tell me Genji was bad at it!” Hana said eagerly, leaning forward.

Hanzo flinched minutely. “He was bad at it. The tutor became very angered. Genji did his best to simply fall asleep while sitting up, and I would do my best to intervene before he began to snore.”

The story was, perhaps not fully complete, but Hanzo’s purpose in sharing the story was done; there was no other order to hold Hanzo there, and so he bowed his head sharply and took off. There was a small balcony area on the northeast side of the base that Hanzo had, on his trip to the island, noticed looked very ill-used and broken down – Hanzo could only hope that no one would find him there.

The quickest, most expedient way to get there without running into anyone else would be to climb from the outside of the base; Hanzo did not have a window in his room, as most rooms were in the center of the old, abandoned Watchpoint. He could understand the wisdom behind the old Overwatch doing so, as when people slept and needed privacy, they wouldn’t want to worry about being targeted by terrorist groups or media paparazzi. Most of the windows that could in fact open were in high traffic areas, intended to always be guarded. But there were a few access doors that would lead to maintenance areas, and the nearest one was situated close enough to the northwest balcony that Hanzo could scale the cliff and outside of the building without being noticed. It helped that it was just after sunrise; most people were in the common areas for their early breakfast before the day’s trainings began.

He pulled himself up to the balcony and paused, kneeling, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He knew, of course, that he was still cursed. He’d had Winston, Angela, and Genji say things that he had had to obey. That was nothing new.

He had simply forgotten how deeply _violating_ it was when some random person nearby him could tell him to do something, and how _every_ random passerby was a threat to his personhood and choices. While on the run, he had either been deliberately drunk to dull the orders, or never interacting with society beyond sign language. The few people who _did_ try to order him, still, or try to speak to him, were most often the clan, and so they were not… they weren’t _random_ in the way these two youngsters were random.

He was trying not to shake, trying to hold everything together, fist clenched against his thigh as painful memories welled up. His stumps ached fiercely against his prosthetics, and sweat beaded against his temples.

He heard a throat clearing from somewhere nearby.

His head snapped up, feeling his dragons flex on his arm. He knew how to get around the binding of his dragons, now, but it was not the time for them to come forth.

There was the gunslinger, the other person who had been at Hanzo’s initial interview with the monkey. He had not said a word, hands folded over his chest, that cigar flickering under the shadow of his hat’s brim.

There was no sound for the longest moment, just staring at one another, and then the gunslinger – some name that started with M, though Hanzo had been more focused on Winston’s words – made a general motion at the dilapidated surroundings. “I ain’t gonna stop ya if ya wanna stick around. Plenty of room.”

On the balcony were a few weather-beaten tables, rusted and worn down. Debris and dirt littered the ground. Underneath a slight overhang was a door – probably the door the gunslinger had used to come out here to the balcony. Hanzo, not being familiar with any of the blueprint or layout of the Watchpoint, did not exactly know how to access that door, or how to use that door to return to his quarters, but he assumed the gunslinger knew exactly which paths to take to get up to this secluded spot.

Clearly, this was a spot that the man used for himself.

“I am intruding,” he said, and was glad that his voice remained steady, even as he could feel his arms and shoulders trembling.

Those honey-brown eyes looked over Hanzo, and the look was nowhere near as terrifying as the elders, or his father. Still, he knew that type of judging, that silent once-over, and he fought not to bare his teeth like an animal, challenging the man.

He was civilized. He wouldn’t do this. And he wouldn’t stick around for _more_ people to causally give him orders.

But as he stood, the man gestured to the pack of cigarettes on the rickety table nearest him. “Looks like you could use one. It’s here, if y’want.”

None of that was an order. And the man was silent, still, and his mouth would be occupied.

Hesitantly, Hanzo stepped forward and took out one of the slim cigarettes.

There wasn’t anywhere to sit down, or relax, but the railing was made of thick stone. Once he took the cigarette, and the wordlessly offered lighter, he moved away from the gunslinger and perched on the railing, staring out into the distance and letting the artificial calmness of the nicotine coat his nerves.

He kept waiting, to see if the other man would say anything – he had claimed the one mostly-intact chair, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles. His arms were folded against his belt, hat tipped low, smoke curling up from the cigarette. But the other man remained silent, and still.

Slowly, Hanzo relaxed, letting his nerves settle as he watched the sun slowly sink over the Alboran Sea.

***

“—seems so isolated.”

“Of his own choosing.”

Hanzo paused in his path past the small garden that someone had carved out from the rocky cliffs.

But he had paused because he recognized those voices, knew that he was hearing his brother discussing quietly with the omnic called Zenyatta, a monk who had traveled with Genji for many years, it seemed. Certainly, they were familiar with one another in a way deep friends or lovers were. Were he and Genji closer, Hanzo would have broached the subject, but after a few weeks on base, avoiding the other agents because they casually threw orders out left and right – and his skill with English was not so great that he didn’t have to take a moment to understand the words or wording, and so he could not quickly sidestep orders and reinterpret them – he still felt like he had no right on his brother’s time, or his brother’s happiness. He _didn’t_ have any right, no matter what Genji claimed, and so stayed on the edges and spent much of his time in his room, reviewing and reviewing English so as to have adequate fluency that would allow him to interpret words correctly.

“But master, I wanted him to come back and be _healed_. I know – I know the clan was doing something to him.”

“By your own admittance, you fought with your brother when you went to confront him.”

“Because he shot an arrow at _me_ —”

“Genji.”

There was silence for a moment and then Genji heaved a sigh. Not robotic, not in the least, and Hanzo realized he must have his faceplate off, to be speaking so clearly with his brother’s voice and lungs. No robotic echo, and for one intense moment, Hanzo yearned to see Genji’s face again, scarred and all.

He steeled himself. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping in the first place, and it wouldn’t bode well for another Overwatch agent to come across him doing what was essentially spying.

But before he could walk off, the omnic’s voice came again, calm and implacable. “Your brother is in a new environment, and has not had the time to shake off the clan’s influence in the way you have been able to.”

“He has had _ten years_ —” Genji said, voice impatient, and Hanzo couldn’t help the fond smile. Genji had no patience, and been the despair of many a tutor because of his inability to sit still and simply _wait_.

The omnic must have made a motion with his hand, because Genji fell silent again. When the silence was complete, the omnic continued, “You walk in harmony, but still your spirit is troubled. Your brother has not walked in harmony these past ten years. He has been living a very different life. Accept the differences, and learn to work in concord with him, and the reconciliation you seek will come.”

For a moment, Hanzo could imagine the omnic was talking to _him_ , not Genji, and he swallowed a little self-consciously. Not that he could claim to be walking in harmony, but he certainly had difficulty accepting his brother’s new existence – accepting the magnitude of damage he had done to his brother’s body.

Another sigh. “I will try, master. It would help if he did not flinch at everyone or everything.”

“We cannot choose how others interact with us, only how we interact with them,” Zenyatta hummed.

Footsteps sounded on the path, and Hanzo quickly moved away, not wanting to be caught.

***

“You’re sure you’re ready to participate in the training sessions?”

Hanzo tapped fingers against his side, unwilling to repeat himself more than once. Instead, he lifted a brow at the giant monkey.

Winston let out a huff and moved to a secondary keyboard. “Who have you practiced with? Who have you talked to? What strike team do you intend to join? We don’t just throw our agents together; we make sure their strengths compliment one another and everything runs smoothly.”

It was reassuring, a little, that Winston clearly took it seriously. Still, Hanzo was going mad on this little rock. Agents came and went – he’d had more than one decent sunset or sunrise with the gunslinger, McCree, in the little balcony – and Hanzo had more or less met every one of them. He was aware of their strengths and talents, if not completely sure where he’d fit in with them.

At least in Japan, he could travel, and hop from city to city. Here, he remained on base. By the end of the first month he had memorized all the paths and hallways, all the rooms. Now that it was nearing the end of the second month, he was desperately searching for something to do that would not require him to interact overmuch with anyone yet still allow him to see something other than the four walls of his room.

“I am a sniper. I am best utilized up and far away, with minimal communicator interaction. I should think that is simple enough, to pair me up with other agents,” Hanzo said stiffly.

Winston tapped his fingers and sighed. “You may be right. Tell me if you feel uncomfortable with them, but I’ll place you on a team. You have training tomorrow at nine in the morning. Try to eat breakfast with them, so that you… gel more with the team. A team that isn’t cohesive is one that won’t last long.”

Hanzo, with all his practice in English over these past two months, sidestepped the order. He didn’t feel uncomfortable with them, and ‘try to eat breakfast’ didn’t mean ‘eat breakfast,’ so he could ignore that one. With a sharp nod, he left the room.

In all honesty, Hanzo was tired of his brother skipping missions to instead hound Hanzo for him to interact more with the other Overwatch agents. Genji still hadn’t seemed to pick up on Hanzo’s difficulty, beyond thinking it had to do with Hanzo killing Genji previously, so he didn’t try to keep from ordering Hanzo.

_(Join us, Hanzo, you like these movies.)_

_(Eat with us, Hanzo, you like sweets.)_

_(Say what you mean! Say what you want to say to me!)_

At least on a mission, Hanzo was unlikely to get assigned to the same strike team as Genji.

…Unless Genji was the reason Winston finally agreed to listen to Hanzo, and—

No, he wasn’t going to borrow trouble. He was finally safe, more or less, and didn’t have to worry about the clan finding him. He was fine. If he had to endure Genji’s presence on a mission, it wouldn’t be hard. After all, a mission would require silence at many key points, so Genji couldn’t corner Hanzo again.

He turned a corner and stumbled into the broad chest of McCree.

“Whoa, there. You a’right, archer?”

“My apologies,” Hanzo grunted.

As Hanzo moved around and continued walking, McCree called out, “Hey, Hanzo, do you wanna grab breakfast with me?”

Hanzo’s reflexive answer was no, and he was physically forming the word with his mouth when he paused, shocked.

There hadn’t been a single order in McCree’s words.

To be fair, McCree had never once given Hanzo an order; he’d always worded everything open-ended. Hanzo wasn’t sure if that was an accident or on purpose, but in either case, he’d never felt safer than when he was sitting in McCree’s presence.

Winston had said he wanted Hanzo eating with people. McCree had to count as people.

“What did you have in mind?” Hanzo asked.

And nearly burst out laughing at the shocked expression on McCree’s face.

***

The dropship was noisy, and Hanzo sat stiff and nervous in the back corner, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankle as he sat straight-backed in the back corner. Lucio and Roadhog sat in one corner, and McCree was up in the cockpit with Lena.

Hanzo watched Zenyatta float over towards him suspiciously.

“Well done, my friend,” Zenyatta said, voice soft. “An impressive first mission.”

Not quite knowing how to respond to that, Hanzo grunted and shrugged one shoulder.

Zenyatta turned his head to watch Lucio and Roadhog, the two of which seemed to be arguing over lyrics. “I must admit, I feel somewhat as if my student is responsible for your outing with us today.”

Again, Hanzo wasn’t sure what the omnic was aiming for, and had long since learned that stoic silence discouraged further discussion. He said nothing.

“I know that Genji has been pushing. I know that Genji has a developed sense of… shall we say, possessiveness of you. He sees you spending time with McCree and not himself and he becomes jealous.”

“I barely spend time with McCree!” Hanzo said, shocked out of his silence to hear that Genji was – what, was jealous?

Though, Genji had always been jealous of Hanzo’s time and attention. That much was the same. Still, it was an odd thing to think of – that Genji had brought Hanzo here and then regretted allowing Hanzo to meet others.

“I did not say that Genji was rational. Family has a way of clouding one’s judgement, and one’s eyes. Genji believes that if he hammers at you often enough, he will eventually come to the root of the problem. He has always been an aggressive, far-ranging fighter. I wish, someday, to break him of this habit. It gives myself and Angela no end of heart attacks.”

Involuntarily, Hanzo chuckled.

If possible, it seemed as if Zenyatta’s lights glowed a little warmer, a little softer. “In the end, I realize you are not denying him for some reason that I cannot yet discern. Can you explain to me why you allow him to run roughshod over you? For that matter, why you allow any of our younger members to, in essence, bully you into doing things you’d rather not?”

Amusement abruptly gone, Hanzo tightened his arms, hugging himself more than anything, and dropped his head so that his bangs fell into his eyes. “And who claims I did something I would rather not do? Every single one of my actions is calculated. I choose each step I make.”

What a liar he was, and his mouth twisted bitterly with the words.

Zenyatta, however, never once turned to look at Hanzo as he let out a little mechanical static that sounded like a sigh. “Of that, I have no doubt. You take every word spoken as if in stone, and make your choices gravely, and solemnly. You avoid large groups, and do your best to avoid the young ones, though they’re much harder to ignore as they are sent out less, and so spend more time around. But I gather from what I have seen, from what I have learned, and from what Genji tells me that you are very, very calculated. If you cannot explain why your calculations include others as variables, then I shall simply offer you this.”

Zenyatta’s nearest, slender hand, which had been folded with his other in his lap, turned palm up to reveal—

“Earbuds?”

“I’m assured by my ear-having companions that they are effective at blocking out sound. They are also an older, older model, like some of my brethren – and their wires are still attached. Our youngsters may have insatiable curiosity, but they are not too badly behaved. These ought to discourage casual speech towards you that you would rather not have.”

Gingerly, Hanzo picked up the earbuds and rolled the small slivers of technology and foam against his fingers. “Noise-canceling would… solve some problems, and create others.”

“You need not use them if you do not want, of course,” Zenyatta said, still studiously not looking at Hanzo. “In fact, you may want to only ever use them in situations like these, where you are forced to endure chatter around you.”

Hanzo stared at the small little pieces of freedom in his hand. He’d tried, very early on, perforating his eardrums, or using something to block sound. The problem of course was that his dragons healed damage performed on him as quickly as possible, and good earbuds that muffled orders also muffled people behind Hanzo, causing him to never notice when someone was reaching up to pull the earbud away. It had led for more than a few startling, sickening orders, and he’d stopped trying when he wasn’t safe.

But it was slowly sinking in that here, he was in fact… _safe_.

***

“Just _tell_ me why you won’t! There’s no good reason—”

Mouth twisted in a snarl, Hanzo searched for words that would explain to Genji why he didn’t like conversing with other Overwatch agents while still obeying that very first command he’d been given, to _not tell_ , and came up with something that was partially if not completely true. “Because they are loud, and speak unnecessarily, and bother me with useless words! I am not here for them, Genji.”

“I told you to pick a side,” Genji rumbled.

Hanzo spread his hands expansively, throwing his arms wide. “And? You did not tell me which side. I am here, am I not? I am joining you on this foolish crusade—”

“Foolish, is it? These people gave me a home when my family cast me out, when _you_ struck me down—”

The words were like physical blows, and Hanzo turned on his heel and began to stride away.

“Don’t you walk away from me!”

Unwillingly, Hanzo froze, teeth locked in a rictus.

There was silence in the room – a small conference room Genji had secured for this topic, as Hanzo had once again refused a movie night or some other such triviality that he had been invited to since his three months with Overwatch. Hanzo waited for the next order to come, for Genji to say something, to say _anything_.

“It is… unfair of me, to do this. But I do not know how to say what I need to, so I will. I _miss_ you, Hanzo. You spend more time with Jesse, more time on your own, than anyone else. You refuse to see me, refuse to mediate with my master, you never went up for that follow-up checkup Angela had asked you to do. You treat Winston harshly, and you are so short and sharp with everyone else that I worry, Hanzo. I worry for you. These people _are_ family, more family than our own, and I only ever wanted that family for you. Yet you keep denying it, throwing it back into their faces, _our_ faces. Tell me, is it so hard to accept a family?”

If Hanzo could bite his own tongue off, he would; as it was, he ground out, word by unwilling word, “ _Yes_ , Genji, it is, because it is my family who did this to me! Me, who served them as loyally as I could. It is my _family_ who has laid waste to me, my body, my very _spirit—_ ”

“ _How_?” Genji interrupted, and his hand came to rest on Hanzo’s shoulder, making Hanzo tense even more beneath him. “How did they – when did they? What _happened_ , Hanzo?”

None of those were orders, and Hanzo gritted his teeth, refused to turn and look at Genji.

“ _Tell me!_ ” Genji begged.

Hanzo’s dragons, agitated, sprang into being, rushing around the room like wind, searching for a way out, for what was disturbing Hanzo so greatly, while Hanzo whipped around to shove Genji back and away. “This happened barely two or three months after our father’s death. This _continued to happen_ long past I destroyed your life. Family has only ever burned me, and I have _no interest_ in finding a replacement!”

Genji stared at him, the lack of his face-mask showing all the clearer the heartbreak, the confusion, and the anger in Genji’s face. Then, Genji stormed out of the room.

Five minutes of slow, deep breathing, of recalling his dragons back under his skin, of trying to center himself, and then Hanzo stepped out of the room and nearly tripped over McCree’s boots.

“Hey, there, Shimada. You sounded like you were in a bit of a pickle, there.”

Hanzo closed his eyes and pinched his brow. “I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Those brown eyes took in every detail, and at first – at first, Hanzo had thought McCree simple, or simplistic. He hadn’t put much weight into someone who walked with actual spurs on his shoes and on his _gun_. But now, now he knew better, knew how much McCree saw.

“Well, I was thinkin’ o’headin’ over t’ the range, get some practice in. I know you prob’ly got a place set up fer yerself, but I’d greatly appreciate it if y’would come hang out.”

On the one hand, Hanzo was in no state to be around others. On the other hand, shooting at something was definitely a task that could release some of Hanzo’s aggression and bleed off some of the nervous energy of his dragons.

Heaving a sigh, he dropped his shoulders. “We will have to stop by my quarters, McCree, if I am to retrieve my bow.”

“Aww, no need t’call me McCree. You can call me Jesse, if y’wanna,” McCree drawled, heading down the warren of hallways towards their sleeping quarters.

Hanzo tried the name on his tongue, measured out their sounds and their weight. “Jesse,” he said slowly.

“That’s right!” McCree – Jesse – said eagerly.

After a few more moments of silent walking, almost to Hanzo’s room, Hanzo muttered, “You may call me Hanzo, if you like.”

Those brown eyes went gold with fondness, and McCree – _Jesse_ , Jesse put out his hand. For a moment, Hanzo didn’t know what to do, and then he remembered to reach out and shake Jesse’s hand.

“Partner, y’ got yerself a deal,” Jesse said solemnly.

***

Hanzo listened to the chatter on their communication channels, eyes flickering over the surrounding areas, looking and checking for any anomalies. He had been cautioned that an enemy sniper – a _good_ enemy sniper – had been seen in the area recently, and may end up crashing their mission.

They were simply escorting some high-value nanites and technology from the docks to the warehouse, where the security was good enough (or at least, a deterrent enough) that whoever had been hitting the shipments had always hit the shipments before they had reached the warehouse. Evidence suggested, though didn’t prove, Talon was accumulating these mechanical parts, and Hanzo had come to find out that if Talon wanted it, the new Overwatch (the New-verwatch, as Lucio, Hana, and Brigette called it) would stop it. Hanzo hoped that there was actual investigative work going on, that there were counterintelligence measures in place, because a reactionary organization would never be a successful one.

The barest glimmer of light reflected in the corner of his eye, and in a flash he had pulled back his bowstring and loosed a sonic arrow up high. It may have been rainy, and the street lights dim and scattered enough to reflect oddly, but it was better safe than sorry.

He got just the barest glimpse of a silhouette disappearing from the range of his sonic arrow, and pressed a finger to open his mic to the communication channels. “Company, up high,” he murmured.

The chatter paused, and then Soldier 76 began barking orders, tightening up the formation below.

“ _C’est magnifique_ ,” a crystal-clear voice said from behind him.

Whipping around, he had time to glance at the woman’s wrists – some form of grappling hook, which explained how quickly she had gotten behind him – before he had leveled the next arrow at her.

“You wouldn’t think anyone would have seen—” she began, but Hanzo was not a good person at heart; he wasn’t going to let her continue to speaking. He loosed an arrow at her, and inhumanly fast reactions had her ducking to the side so that the arrow skimmed her forehead, opening a line at her forehead that oozed blood rather than dripped freely.

She let out a soft scoff, and Hanzo blocked out the voices that were getting frantic in his ear. She had blue skin, golden eyes, and was amazingly tall. French – this was Widowmaker, the assassin that even those in the East heard of and knew. On Talon’s payroll, he knew. She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s rude to shoot at someone—”

He shot again, rolling as he did so and coming up into a crouch, knowing that he’d miss – she was waiting for it, knew he wouldn’t let her speak. Why she was trying to, he wasn’t sure. Feeling him out? Jesse had mentioned, once, that Talon had tried to recruit him.

With a sigh, she rolled away from the shot. “Stop that,” she said chidingly. “Let me finish speaking.”

The order curled around him, and slowly, unwillingly, he lowered his bow.

She had already started to move, clearly anticipating another arrow, and when one didn’t come, she paused and tilted her head at him.

“Well, this is odd,” she murmured to herself. “I come to see what sniper Overwatch snapped up, and find an archer, with distinctive facial features. And – stand up, would you?”

He felt his blood burn as he fought the order for the first time since those initial months of the curse. He didn’t want to, didn’t _want_ to—

He stood up.

“Oh. I remember, some many years ago, my handler mourning a lost asset. I would never be as good, he had said, as the purchase that slipped away.” She looked at him, and there was almost something like sorrow in her eyes. “Unfortunate, that.”

And then she disappeared, off into the dim gloom.

Slowly, the voices in his ear filtered in, Genji’s voice tight and panicked as he shouted, “What’s going on, Hanzo? What happened? Report, what’s going on?”

“Confronted Widowmaker. She left,” Hanzo said, voice tight and throat frozen.

***

Hanzo might not have seen this organization as a new family, but he had been coming around to see it as a safe place, a second home. No one said he was particularly bright – because he didn’t leave right away after that encounter with Widowmaker.

No, he waited until it was absolutely clear Talon did, in fact, remember the deal Itsumi had tried to make with them, and sent Doomfist to test out the merchandise.

***

Hanzo didn’t know what to do. He had come so far with Overwatch, had practiced his understanding of English so that he could sidestep direct orders, or slip around them, as well as he could in Japanese – and yet, it wasn’t enough.

He had gotten a small note, left from Widowmaker that had simply read ‘ _I’m sorry that he knows._ ’

It made him wonder whether she, too, was cursed with obedience, considering Talon had been looking for ways of controlling their assets.

That was neither here nor there, however. He could not go out, not without risking running into Doomfist again. Doomfist had only tested the limits of Hanzo’s obedience – which was humiliating in and of itself, and soul-shattering – and had not actually ordered Hanzo to, say, take a shot at his own team. Join Talon. Kill his brother – _again_.

Hanzo couldn’t risk that. He’d taken one or two small missions, reconnaissance only, but he was already stockpiling resources and getting ready to leave. He couldn’t remain where he was a liability – where he might kill a teammate.

A knock came from his door. He glanced at it and considered pretending he wasn’t in, even though Athena would be able to expose that lie quickly. There was no one from Overwatch he wanted to see, however. What could he say to them? He had too many questions from the Overwatch members – people he had once been happy to work with, proud to work with, and now feared being near. There was no good answer, after all, to the legitimate questions his coworkers had, and their disappointment and fury only made him that much more upset. It was easier by far to simply leave. Genji’s order to try out Overwatch was long gone, faded with time, and while these few months had been some of the best Hanzo could remember, all good things had to end. He could not remain and put the still-shaky group in further jeopardy.

The knock came again.

It wasn’t as if he could sneak out some other way. Hanzo sighed and then steeled himself, holding his body tight and his shoulders squared as he moved to the door and keyed it open.

Jesse stood there, leaning against the wall. In the hand mostly hidden from sight, Hanzo could see the necks of two alcoholic beverages; the and nearest the door, his flesh arm, must have been the one knocking.

“I have—” Hanzo began, voice strident and cold.

But Jesse interrupted him – something he very rarely did. “Whyn’t you come up an’ drink some with me? I hate drinkin’ alone.”

The words were a lie, but, as always, the wording allowed for Hanzo to choose whether to listen or not. It was the one thing he had come to count on – not once, not in the three months he’d been with Overwatch – Jesse never gave a command. He always invited, or suggested, without any expectation or even a tone that his curse could misinterpret.

He’d miss sitting with Jesse. He’d come… to feel fondly for him, to want to be around him, to think about Jesse as… more.

“For a short while,” Hanzo found himself saying.

Jesse’s eyes lit up, and he looked so pleased and content that Hanzo found himself reflexively smiling back.

The balcony had become their spot; Genji had found it once, and had left, leaving it for them, and Zenyatta had come out once or twice to meditate silently – something that Hanzo found he did not mind as much as he thought he would. It was no longer completely destroyed; there was a nice table, quite a few comfortable chairs, and the area was cleaned of the debris and dirt that had accumulated over the years.

Hanzo had brought forth a few plants, and there were some soft, thick blankets and pillows with warm color themes. There was an awning that he and Jesse had jury-rigged one memorable weekend. There was a soft mat, and a small mini-cooling unit with Jesse’s preferred whiskey and Hanzo’s brand of sake he’d found that was a good replacement for his favorite brand that he still hadn’t found exactly correct outside of Japan.

It was their little place, their carved-out home, Hanzo’s safe spot from the random demands from the other Overwatch agents. Seeing it again made Hanzo’s chest hurt as he settled into his customary chair and accepted the glass from Jesse. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and took a sip from the glass – a whiskey, he believed, or perhaps bourbon. Hanzo was not familiar enough with Jesse’s taste (in that he’d definitely taken a sip or two before, but never drank a full glass religiously enough to be able to correctly identify the two) but it had a sharp bite, smoothing down his throat, and he savored the glass. Once it was done, he would leave, both here and… permanently.

It seemed appropriate to be sitting here – here, where he’d first met Jesse, where he’d first found a refuge from the torrent of commands that happened in every day life. The sun was beginning to set, a deep yellow disc starting to sink below the sea’s horizon. The sky was a deep, brilliant pink and purple color, streaks of orange and light blue still smeared across the sky.

“Hey, Hanzo?” Jesse said.

Hanzo looked up, confused. Normally, whenever they had a drink they were silent; the few times they spoke with one another here had always been when they were simply here to be in one another’s company. “Jesse?” he replied.

There was silence, and Hanzo turned a little in the chair to look at Jesse fully, even though Jesse’s gaze was trained on the horizon, not looking at Hanzo at all. It wouldn’t surprise Hanzo that Jesse knew what Hanzo’s plan was, and this might be his goodbye, or a plea for Hanzo to stay.

Whatever was going to happen, Hanzo sure as hell didn’t expect what actually happened.

“Choose what orders to follow, from here on out,” Jesse said, voice low and gravelly, and then he stood up violently and stalked back inside the Watchpoint.

Hanzo sat there, stunned.

The order was there – the only order, the _only_ order, he had ever gotten from Jesse. It sat at the back of his mind, held him in its grip, but it was—

It was the most freeing order Hanzo had ever had.

Because, of course, for all that the strength of orders faded over time, he could recall them, almost perfectly. Nothing ‘broke’ the order except an order that superseded the previous one – he could remember sitting in one place because he was told to, until he was then ordered to move. He had been forbidden from speaking, and for two days had not said a word until someone had ordered him to answer them. He had… many stories like that one.

But now…

No order could ever – nothing would supersede that order. Nothing would…

He was…

He sat there, as the sky darkened and deepened, as the chill of evening crept into the air, as faraway stars – muted by light pollution, even this far south of the truly inhabited mainland – twinkled into sight. He sat there, and could not comprehend what that would mean.

He had always had great and grand plans for what he would do when he finally could be free. He’d never known how it would come about, but he imagined going back, killing and destroying those that had placed this curse on him in the first place. He imagined their deaths over and over, so often that they were some of his few good dreams.

And now…

***

“Where were you?” Genji asked.

Hanzo had sat out the whole night, surprised at just how… _normal_ he felt, even though his whole life had been returned to his hands. He had sat there, almost in a meditative state (Zenyatta would have been so pleased to see him) until the sun reached up from the water, stretched and brought forth the new day. Realizing he was hungry, he had come in and made his way down to the common kitchen area of the watchpoint – where Genji and Lucio were sitting at the table, steaming cups of tea before them.

Genji knew something had been wrong with Hanzo; after all, Hanzo had been increasingly short and nonverbal last night, and had gotten ready to leave until Jesse had interrupted. Genji had seemed to understand that Hanzo and Jesse were close, and didn’t act like it bothered him – at least, not overtly.

Hanzo ignored Genji and went to the fridge to find some of the miso soup he knew he had left in there from yesterday.

“Hanzo, answer me. I’ve been worried sick.”

The order came, Hanzo could _feel_ it, but on its heels was the reminder that he could choose, _he could choose_.

Turning around, he smiled, an occurrence so rare that Lucio visibly jerked back in surprise. “No thank you, brother. I think not.”

And Hanzo walked away.

***

He found himself deliberately hanging around the common room spaces, where the Overwatch agents congregated, just on the off-chance that someone would tell him to do something and he could _refuse_.

It was childish, he knew, but yet the novelty of it, the ability to deny someone, the ability to say no or even say yes, if he pleased – the _choice_ allowed him so much freedom he was giddy with it.

All thanks to Jesse.

Where was he, anyway?

***

He knew that Jesse was avoiding him. He wasn’t sure why, not in the least, but at the same time, there were very limited places they could be on this rocky island, and the fact that Jesse was _never_ in the same place as Hanzo meant that Jesse was doing it deliberately.

So Hanzo decided to cheat.

He had kept his dragons close to him, even after Izuku had given them back to him; he hadn’t wanted to risk them, hadn’t wanted to risk someone telling him to use them for something he didn’t want to. They would sometimes manifest around him, when he was upset or angry or feeling particularly lonely, but he kept them nearby.

Now, he called them forth, and asked them if they would mind to go and find Jesse for him.

The two of them liked Jesse as much as he did, of course, and as vain creatures, they enjoyed hearing Jesse praise them when they had done a particularly skilled feat on the battlefield. They slid away from him and zipped away like a breath of fresh wind, the scent of ozone in the air as they passed.

It took them a few hours before they came rushing back, wriggling like hounds on the scent, and he got up and followed them down into the deep of the Gibraltar Watchpoint.

Hanzo had made it his business to know the layout of the watchpoint, and knew where they were going – but it was deep in the area that was still unused; no electricity except the emergency generators, broken furniture and glass everywhere. Hanzo had tried to hide here before, but he hadn’t actually liked being in small spaces that reminded him too much of when he had felt trapped in his room.

“What are you doing down here in this mess?” Hanzo asked dryly.

The familiar cowboy hat tilted, and the cigar butt glowed in the darkness. “Was tryin’ ta make myself scarce until Winston found me an assignment.”

“I fail to see why,” Hanzo said, his dragons growing to the size of small goats, glowing luminescent blue in the dim gloom.

A heavy sigh came from the man on the ground. “Y’think yer th’ first that hadta do what they were ordered to do? I was around Amelie – Widowmaker, we know ‘er now – when she first came back to us. She was like that, a bit. More awkward, more stiff, but you could tell it. Sometimes she just couldn’t say no, an’ it was tearin’ ‘er up inside.”

Hanzo sat down, clearing glass from the area as he did so, and crossed his legs as his two dragons sat on either side of him. “That explains why you never gave me orders, I suppose,” Hanzo said quietly. “But it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Because _I did it_. I did what the others did to you. I gave you an order, Hanzo, when I told myself I would never do so,” Jesse said, and he sounded so upset, so _sad_ , that Hanzo knew that laughing at Jesse wouldn’t be productive.

Still, it was an almost insurmountable feat to keep his mirth locked in.

“Jesse… you gave me my freedom back. Your order undid _years_ of terror. I can never thank you enough, but I would like to kiss you.”

For a few minutes, there was nothing but dead silence. Then Jesse leaned forward, hat tilted back, eyes wide. “You wanna run that by me again?”

“I’d like to kiss you,” Hanzo reiterated.

Brow furrowed, Jesse looked closely at Hanzo. “I don’t want any pity, or nothin’. You ain’t never made mention before this.”

Hanzo opened his mouth, and then closed it. “I – I haven’t flirted in a while. I thought I was being obvious. I ate _breakfast_ with you. I did _trick_ _shots_ with you.”

Jesse stared at Hanzo a long moment, and then leaned forward.

The kiss wasn’t the longest, or deepest, or dirtiest, but it was sweet, and kind, and everything Hanzo ever wanted.

***

“Oh – f-fuck, Hanzo, _faster_ , Hanzo—”

A deep, rich chuckle, and then Hanzo leaned over Jesse’s sweaty, straining body. “ _No_ ,” he purred.


End file.
